Before My Gay Relationship Began

This is a quick note that I had written prior to finding my current boyfriend of 2 years.

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Being gay in Manhattan is fabulous. For decades the homosexual community has been shunned, and to this day I doubt you’ll see a gay couple holding hands as they stroll down the streets of Iowa – not unless they intend to be on the front page of their local newspaper, followed by statements of "witch hunt" and "Kill the Queers!". No, but Manhattan, the Big Apple, New York City, is perfect for being gay -- well, at least for the single gay man.

After a few months of living in New York City it is hard to find anything shocking: you’ve seen it all: from an angry drunk starting a fight and screaming, “bitch!” at a passing dog to some psycho you’re urinating next to at Grand Central, who’s fingering for you to follow him into a stall (and yes, I know some of you get a woody just thinking of it!). A gay man in public is nothing to a New Yorker – just a regular Joe.

Manhattan offers Fifth Ave. for the fashion-conscious man and all the hook-up-with-a-hot-guy-meat-market-bars even the horniest bastard can’t seem to fit on his monthly calendar. It’s by far the best, most fabulous city a gay guy could ask for. But, being gay in Manhattan and looking for a relationship is quite a different story...

With all the hard bodied, six-packing go-go boys in this city oozing sex atop bars and shaking hefty packages they’ve got in thongs or less, and with the fliers patrons pick up from promoters with nearly nude men on the cover – as if promising sex if you attend this or that club – you can’t blame a guy for thinking with his pecker as he scours through a crowd of dancing, shirtless men, with tented pants and grabbing hands, in search of a quick lay. We’ve all had a run-by ass-grabber pinching our perfect asses or feeling our bulges cupped inside our amazingly-perfect-for-our-figure Gucci pants. The gay community oozes sex. Everything is hot, sexy, and can be, and in many experiences has almost always been, a prelude to sex. Not that anything is wrong with sexuality, one-night stands, or even shhh… anonymous sex with a tall, dark stranger with strapping biceps and washboard abs you could scrub yourself clean with all day. Lord knows sex is great and I’ll hit my knees and sing “Hallelujahs!’ for hot guys and beautiful bodies – but what happens when we become tired of the usual one-nighters and to coming home to an empty mattress?

I went on a job interview a couple of weeks back to be a personal assistant to an investment banker who lives in Manhattan. For his privacy, I’ll refer to him as Mr. Money Banks. Mr. Money Banks posted an ad because he needed someone to help maintain his hectic calendar. He was so busy he needed a liaison to his clients and company. After the interviewing process, I was hired! The benefits were great and the pay was even better. What Mr. Money Banks forgot to mention in his ad was that he required a backrub and handjob at the end of every day. Yikes! I worked an eight-hour shift – until the sun came down and he dropped his pants – and I never stepped foot in his office again. Even job interviews in the gay community can be preludes to sex.

I am gay, love Manhattan’s nightlife, and am in search of something greater than an affair or a good time. And, I know I cannot be the only one. I want love. I want legitimacy. I’ve noticed, however, the gay community has been decorated so damn well with the glitz and allure of sex that while attending clubs and gay events we forget what is most important: companionship; and even the most earnest attempt to find love in these places can be muddled with preconceived notions that we have to get laid tonight and tomorrow night, but tomorrow night we need to find a better looking guy, who has better pecs than the one before and maybe a learner torso. And, perhaps, we do. We are men, after all. But, good luck being gay, living in Manhattan, and finding love. It’s not impossible. Just takes finding someone like-minded, who agrees sex isn’t a prelude to a conversation.

I know there must be someone out there for me. There must be.