When are you ready to date as a Gay Man?

Following on from my previous Substack about finding your lane, I thought I’d return to my approach to dating in my teens and twenties.

In fairness, it was less “dating” and more a series of finite romances. Not quite a one night stand, but not quite a relationship either. I prefer the word romance to hookup or shag. It lends the whole business a little dignity.

The one nighter never really gelled with me.

Back in the 1990s, internet dating wasn’t a thing. If you wanted to meet someone, you went to a gay bar or another gay venue. Everyone was there for one, or perhaps two or three, things. First and foremost, however, they were looking for company. Whether that company was platonic or carnal was open to negotiation.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t averse to a bit of “how’s your father”. If all the weather conditions aligned and the itch was primed and ready for a little scratch, rub or caress, I could be persuaded.

I hasten to add that I’m neither a sacred virgin nor a prude. One nighters simply didn’t sit right with me.

Hence my adoption of the word romance, borrowed from the term holiday romance: “a relationship between two people who meet while on holiday, typically lasting no longer than the holiday itself.”

I lived in Australia, New Zealand and America. Los Angeles, California: the wasteland of broken souls. I had romances in the first two, but America left me cold. Too much fakery.

But anyway, I digress.

I eventually returned to the UK and moved back into my house after my tenants vacated. Then I reentered the corporate world. Dull, certainly, but I had a quest.

While overseas, I’d saved enough money to pay off just over half my mortgage. I had only the remaining half to clear. So, I secured a job and abstained from relationships and spending for eighteen months.

I worked in telecoms, running a technical night team. Constant nights, great money and no weekends off. I worked and slept. It wasn’t healthy, but the money was building up and I was focused on my target. I wasn’t spending anything on fun because, quite frankly, I was barely awake.

I had Tuesday and Wednesday nights off, but did nothing with them. My social life was nonexistent.

Then came a shakeup at work and a promotion. I moved onto days, setting up an office in Birmingham, for even better money. Slowly, I began crawling out of my self imposed exile.

I wasn’t ready to date, but, through a stroke of luck, I met a chap called Mike at the gym. The gym was attached to a country house hotel, and Mike was staying there with his wife and another couple for a weekend treat.

There was chemistry immediately.

I thought friendship. After a while, however, it became clear that it could be a little more.

That “weekend treat” became a year long affair. A couple of times a week, we enjoyed a light afternoon delight. It was mutually satisfying and entirely free of commitment.

Until he arrived at my door with a suitcase and announced that he was leaving his wife.

I told him we could date, but he wasn’t moving in with me. As a storyteller, I could see the trajectory and the tropes from a mile away. Within six months, he’d be turning around and blaming me for what had become of his life.

He decided to return to his wife.

It transpired that he hadn’t actually told her he was leaving. He’d merely left a note beside the toaster. He returned home before the note was read and before anyone had noticed he’d left.

We stayed in contact, but the afternoon delights ceased.

It was at that moment that I realised I was ready to date.

That dreaded ‘D’ word.

It was an awakening of sorts. My mortgage was only a few months away from being cleared. My emotional and physical foundations were firm, the walls were up and the roof looked sturdy enough.

Now was the time.

As Annie Lennox belted out on the Eurythmics album Savage: “I need a man.”

Perhaps Annie was a tad forceful. My little suburban self would have put it more conversationally:

“I am ready to date.”

And that, my delightful readers, will be saved for the next instalment.

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