Why the National Equality March Matters

There are benefits and drawbacks to having lots of friends on Facebook. I know that every few minutes my newsfeed will be refreshed with a variety of statuses, photos, links, quizzes, etc., guaranteeing me near constant procrastination if I want it, though that may also be one of the drawbacks.

Another drawback with having a significant amount of gay friends on Facebook, makes the content of said updates pretty homogenous. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; I probably would have left Facebook long ago if I was only being bombarded with sports updates or something. Nevertheless, this week it seems like the only news was Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize, Kylie Minogue’s multiple concerts in New York, and recaps of the National Equality March.

Cleve Jones knew that the internet would revolutionize the way that the Equality March was organized, and he was right. It takes but moments to make hundreds of thousands of people aware of any event and then allows you to keep them actively updated and engaged with its progression. Social networks like Facebook are particularly useful for events such as this because they act as both informers and influencers. All month, and particularly all of last week I could see which of my friends were going to the march, how they were getting there, not to mention all the additional activities and parties they planned on attending while there. I couldn’t help but feel like maybe I was missing out.

But marching has never been my thing. Raised in a somewhat conservative and reserved family, I’ve never been a fan of public demonstrations. It’s not that I’d be ashamed to be seen among those that marched, since college my name’s Google results indicate my sexuality almost immediately. I have written about sex and relationships for the last four years and since I was 18 have never tried to hide who I am. And it’s not that I don’t think demonstrations are important, or that I think they are a waste of time. On the contrary I applaud all of you who marched last weekend and made a literal stand for some of the injustices we suffer at the hands of the government.

Having gone to school in DC, I’m no stranger to these events. As the epicenter of our government it is the appropriate place for them to occur. But I guess I always wondered whom these large scale publicity events were designed to influence. We know that Congress wasn’t in session for the holiday, and obviously Obama was not on hand to sign any new bills to challenge or repeal DADT or DOMA. So why are they important?

Then I remember why I write. It’s not just to reach a small circle of my friends and family, sharing my thoughts and feelings from the week. The reason we participate in events like marches, and contribute to publications that celebrate our lives, is because for every one of us that is lucky enough to live in a big city, or attend a huge march, there are young gay people across the country and around the world that are isolated. Like the stories from ‘Milk,’ and Imfromdriftwood.com, I can only imagine how many gay teens must have felt when the images of the National Equality March showed up online. I hope they realized not only that they weren’t alone, but that there are people who understand their struggle. I’d like to think they feel the same way when they read Homo-Neurotic. The way I felt when I first read ‘Density of Souls,’ by Christopher Rice.

I may prefer my keyboard and blog to a marker and poster board, but I promise my heart is in the same place. Media and the internet has blessed us by bringing us together and each day I feel privileged to be reminded just how lucky we are to be able to gush over the same ‘gay’ things online. It may be a bit redundant, but then again so are the cries of protest. But until our cries are heard and respected by our oppressors then I don’t mind seeing the same updates repeatedly. We each have our own voice to echo our beliefs and share our stories. Just don’t forget to use yours for something. You never know who may be listening.

B.B. Nichols lives and works in New York. He has been writing Everybody Does It since 2005.

Appeared originally on Homo-Neurotic on 10/14/09

Gettin' Tufts on Sexiling

I’m sure by now most of you have heard that recently at Tufts University in Boston they added a new rule to the student handbook. ‘Residents may not engage in sexual activity while their roommate is in the room.’ The new rule also banned the act of sexiling, or prohibiting your roommate from entering the room while you are engaging in sexual activity. Though those of us who weren’t Neanderthals or nascent exhibitionists in college wouldn’t have wanted to hook up while our roommate was present (barring certain levels of inebriation), this does routinely pose a significant dilemma for a vast majority of students. The ban is equal parts good natured, to preserve the ‘privacy, study time, and sleep,’ of the residents, and Victorian, limiting the actions one can perform in the privacy of their own bedrooms. I’m sure we can all see both sides.

When I was embarking on my first year of college I, like most freshmen, was given the name and contact information of my roommate. Never one to waste time, I immediately got in touch and we talked for eight hours the first night. Needless to say he was also gay, and the rest of the summer, we chatted online, talked on the phone, and made plans for what we were sure was to be the best year of our lives. Having barely just lost my virginity, and used to not being able to bring boys home, I didn’t anticipate any regret when we agreed that we wouldn’t bring hook-ups back to the room. Though I soon realized the error of my hastiness, I stuck to our promise, at least when he was in town.

During the remainder of college I definitely had my evenings where alcohol imbued me with the confidence that I was as silent and stealth and as a jewel thief, and could sneak a boy into my room and have our activities remain a mystery. It sometimes had the same effect on my roommates. When this delusional behavior occurred we would either ignore it, yell something bitchy to make the other stop, or just crash somewhere else. Of course these conditions were not ideal, but that was part of college. Exploring our sexuality, whether directly or indirectly, is as necessary a part of the collegiate experience as the academics.


Of course for gays there are added dimensions to this problem, and the recent ban. I knew several gay couples who either met as or later became roommates. It’s dangerous to commit to a semester or more together, but like those of us who have moved into a one bedroom with a boyfriend, these guys had the best deal possible. Though I doubt it is Tufts’ intention, who’s to say that this ban couldn’t be used to keep couples from rooming together? And for roommates that are mixed, heteros and homos, what’s to keep one from using this as a way to discriminate against the other. The successful act of sexiling often hinges on peer pressure anyway, now they are asking the victim to become a narc.

Living in New York, especially in this economy when people may be moving to smaller places or bringing in additional roommates to help foot the bill, can feel a bit like college. We may not have RA’s to govern our behavior anymore, but we all still live by a code of our invention. I try to only invite boys over when my roommate is not going to be home, or just confine ourselves to my bedroom; and I wouldn’t think twice about doing whatever we wanted while there. Though we aren’t copulating in the direct sight of our lovers’ roommates (unless invited to do so), more than likely our actions aren’t going unnoticed.

Luckily (or perhaps not) our notions of privacy, voyeurism, and exhibitionism in New York are more easily shrugged off than in college. Last week, a worker descending outside my window came within 10 ft. of my naked body and I didn’t even flinch. The biggest advantage we have now is anonymity and hopefully the maturity of our lovers and their roommates, ensuring the situation will be treated with levity, at least until we make our exit, or close our blinds.

B.B. Nichols lives and works in New York. He has been writing Everybody Does It since 2005.|

Appeared originally on Homo-Neurotic.com on 10/7/09

Friendly Fire/Favor

Whenever you get together with long-time friends, it doesn’t take long to see just how much and how little you’ve changed. This past weekend, I didn’t just see any old friend, but one of my closest friends who happens to live on the other side of the world.
Since I began writing this column she’s inspired a lot of my themes and provided me with plenty of anecdotes, and for that I am eternally grateful, especially because each anecdote usually got her in trouble with her boyfriend at the time. As usual, there was no steady boyfriend to introduce her to during this visit, but I guess in a lot of ways that’s better, because too often we let our friends’ opinions of our lovers color the way we see them.

In the last six years that we’ve known each other, we’ve had a lot of men in our lives and in our beds. Though she spent the majority of college in monogamous relationships, and I spent my time trying to avoid them, we always had plenty of notes to compare and now have found ourselves on the other side of college looking for different things again. While I try to climb the corporate ladder at home and flesh out a long-lasting relationship, she’s trying to figure out how to succeed outside the 9-to-5 world and enjoy her freedom abroad.

To say our friends’ differences complement us is an absurd understatement. Their experiences inform our decisions as much as our own trials and tribulations. There are times when their relationships mirror exactly what we want to avoid or precisely what we hope to find: that whatever the result, we’ve learned something in the process. Of course their individual interactions are not something we can recreate so the lessons are at best generalizations.

Worrying what our friends think about our new paramours also illustrates how highly we regard their opinion. I think about this when I analyze how I introduce a new lover to my friends. Some I’ve kept to myself almost exclusively. Others I brought out on the very first date. I don’t know if I felt that some would fit in more than others, or that some were just not that interesting to begin with. Some lovers seemed to fade in the glare of scrutiny, while others either flourished or floundered if my friends found them favorable. Sometimes when my friends did approve it made the guy seem less desirable.

When I think about my friends’ boyfriends, I’ve probably only liked about 50% of them. But it was only those friends that allowed their relationships to profoundly change them that damaged our friendship in any way. Relationships are divisive by design. They take up the attention that is often provided by multiple friends, in one easy package. But if dating has shown me anything, it’s that you’re more likely to have the same friends down the line, than the same boyfriend. So it pays to be understanding when your friends go on hiatus and viceversa.

Eventually I assume my friends and I will settle down, or at least most of us will. Whether we like each others’ husbands, boyfriends, partners, or otherwise (or not at all), I hope our shared history and time spent in the dating trenches will keep us close to one another. After all, our friends all add different flavors to our life, but it will be our lover(s) that will make that life a meal.

B.B. Nichols lives and works in New York. He has been writing Everybody Does It since 2005.

Appeared originally on Homo-Neurotic.com on 9/29/09

Keep Your Hands Free: The New Rules for Texting while Dating

This week’s premiere of “Melrose Place” featured one of the male leads hoisting a comely female against the back hallway of a restaurant. As they played tonsil hockey and his hand moved up her thigh, his other hand held a not unfamiliar object: an iPhone.

As a text bubbled up on the screen the female warned, “Don’t you even dare.” What happened next is not really important since the next 57 minutes were pretty much ridiculous, but in that opening scene they not only brought the originally 90’s show up to date, but touched on an all too common occurrence, inappropriate texting.

Sure we’ve touched on this topic before, whether it’s the rules of texting, sexting, booty calls, or regretful messages to exes via Skype, but with all the recent attention given to the dangers of texting and driving, some attention needs to be paid to the etiquette of texting and dating. We all know it’s rude to sit, clutching our phones, thumbs pressed to keys, eyes glued to the screen, and shoulders hunched in the company of others, right? But what are the rules for texting over the course of a relationship?

Let’s say you meet online or in a bar, two likely scenarios for us, you exchange numbers and want to send the perfect follow-up text to your initial chat, make out session, or exchange or genital shots. What’s appropriate?

Don’t strike up conversation, or ask how their week has been, get to the point and schedule a date. You can mention what has already been established, “It was great chatting with you…”, “We met last Friday…”, “Can’t wait to get that huge monster inside of me…”, but don’t reveal too much in case the other person doesn’t recall the entire interaction.

On The Date Texting

While on the date it’s especially important to give little attention to your phone. Don’t check it when they arrive or at any point while you are seated. If you must, excuse yourself to the bathroom, or stealthily steal a glance while leaving the restaurant, after all they have replaced our watches so it’s appropriate to check the time periodically, but resist opening any messages. Now wait two ore more days until texting again, and only when you are ready to set up the next date.

Booty Texting

Depending on the level of commitment you plan to achieve with this individual will probably determine how the two of you proceed with texting. A casual sexual relationship may only require texts late at night or after several drinks, and though may be regretted, are generally excused or ignored if not reciprocated. For the object of your heart’s desire you’ll want to tread more lightly and avoid being too forward or expressing too much emotion via text, as you’ll want to share that in person so nothing is misinterpreted.

Hump Texting

We’ve all seen Paris Hilton answer the phone amidst bobbing on Rick Solomon, but while hooking up or having sex, make sure your phone is on silent or far enough away that no beep or vibration will disrupt the mood. You know how distracting at work it can be when your phone won’t stop buzzing, or when its silence indicates that text from last weekend’s hookup hasn’t come through. If you don’t want to earn the reputation of being bad in bed then you better make sure to keep your head in the game.

Text Message Break-Up

Finally, in only the poorest of form would you breakup via text. Messages from casual encounters can be ignored; eventually they’ll get the idea. But anyone you’ve spent a significant amount of time with should be told ‘get lost’ in person, or over the phone if absolutely necessary. People may call all this playing games, but these are simply the rules that make up the game. You may bend of break the rules, but it just makes the game that much harder to win.

Golden Cock Rule

Just remember the golden rule. Text unto others as you would them like to text unto you. And if a guy with a hot cock sends you a pic of his erect member, forward it to all your friends, ASAP.

–

B.B. Nichols lives and works in New York. He has been writing Everybody Does It since 2005.


Appeared originally on homo-neurotic.com on 9/10/09

Farewell Summer, Hello Fall

Like waking from a dream, the transition from summer to fall always unsettles me. Though I may be jumping the gun, fall doesn’t officially start for another few weeks, once the calendar turns to September I can’t help but feel that fall has arrived.

On the one hand I love the heat and fun of summer like every other red-blooded American, whatever that means, but fall has always been my favorite. Though it begins inauspiciously with cooling temperatures and rain fall, you can’t deny that the air is charged with energy as it builds towards its crescendo of brilliant leaves and the promise of cozy socks and sweaters.

Though this summer may have been wetter and more tepid than others, the mentality was the same. Short shorts, long nights, and beach trips make it hard to think about the future, as the warm weather demands you spend as much time outdoors as possible. The summer can make you feel invincible, immortal, or at least immobile when lying in a pool of sweat, but it doesn’t often make you feel like being responsible, let alone figuring out where your life is headed. Mostly we ride it out with as many distractions as possible, put in our time at work until the half day whistle blows on Friday and the weekend begins. Then this week arrives and Labor Day stares us in the face like the barrel of a gun.

On the other side of the weekend lurks (gasp!) full work weeks, less relaxed dress codes, less happy hours, and seemingly a lot more accountability. Despite all this, fall always seems to signal the true beginning of a new year for me. I love the thought of renewal, even though it seems as if the world is fading around us. Friends return from vacation, tourists return to their towns, and we get to fall in love again with the city. If you were unsuccessful in turning your summer romance into a fall fling, or find yourself single again this season, the shorter days and cooler nights make it the perfect time to find someone else to cozy up with. The mad dash for holiday and hibernation, honeys, has officially begun.

But this new beginning doesn’t have to signal the start of yet another quest for a new love. Perhaps summer saw the end of your last relationship or you have no interest in settling down; let the energy of the back-to-schoolers renew your co-ed behavior and spend the season reacquainting yourself with friends, throwing yourself back into your career or classes, or for scoring as much fake-ID-carrying undergraduate ass as Chelsea can provide. I always loved the way new semesters felt, like anything was possible, and nothing had to be done quite yet, but opportunities to shine and grow were abundant. Maybe it’s just me, but I grow tired of summer’s malaise and look forward to new challenges of autumn.

So don’t mourn the end of summer, or dread the imminent winter. Enjoy this brief period of equilibrium, when the city is more alive than ever. As New Yorkers we made a conscious decision to remove ourselves from nature, but it’s impossible to ignore the changing leaves of Central Park trees, and the chilly breeze down 5th Avenue.

If you can think of something more exciting, promising, or romantic than that, then I guess you haven’t fallen as hard as I have for New York City fall. It’s time you did.

B.B. Nichols lives and works in New York. He has been writing Everybody Does It since 2005.

Appeared originally on www.Homo-neurotic.com on 9/2/09

Diving Wading Into Relationships

No matter how old we get there are some habits from our childhood that are hard to break. Though I broke myself on the last minute animal crackers or candy bar purchase in the checkout line, and I no longer hold my breath when passing a graveyard, when getting into a pool or the ocean, I still have to go inch by inch. You dip your foot into the pool, and determine, it is quite cooler than the concrete surrounding. So you begin down the steps, foot-by-foot, knee-by-knee, and eventually you’re up to your waist. This is usually when I hop on my tiptoes and hold my arms out perpendicular to my body. Though the water feels refreshing and comforting even, it takes just a minute to adjust.

Though by adolescence we usually could muster the courage to dive in head first and just get over with in one fell swoop, sometimes we become more cautious with age and revert to childhood shyness. The same can be said of the way we approach relationships. When we’re new to sexual activity we grab impulsively for whatever treat we think will easily satisfy our craving, definitely fret over any encounter with lovers that have since passed on, but as adults we learn to tread carefully into any relationship we think may be a success, instead of diving right in like we may have done as teens or in college.


I thought about this recently as I began to hang out with a boy that had more genuine potential than I’d encountered in the 18 months since my last boyfriend. He possesses nearly every attribute I’d come to consider as negative since my tenure of dating in New York, but yet I can’t deny that being around him seems to comfort and refresh my weary attitude. So much of me wants to be daring and just belly flop my feelings, splashing him with everything I’d kept reserved for so long, but I knew that it would be much safer, and ultimately more satisfying if I let develop one toe, one foot at a time.

It’s strange the way we talk ourselves out of acting impulsively. Though we may want to pig out on the value meal, or eat the rest of the pizza we so carefully stowed in the fridge, we rationalize that we must consider our health, and conserve so as to stretch our resources for as many meals as possible. We may never escape the dread of running into the ghost of a failed relationship, but we learn that the feeling will pass and holding our nose does little to stifle the stench.

I can think of few greater pleasures than coming home after a day at the beach and feeling like the waves are still rocking you to sleep in your bed. When we meet someone that not only makes our heart pound, but allows us to carry that sensation with us, it seems worth it to savor every opportunity to acclimate, and get to know them better, until we finally allow it to all wash over. If the feeling fades and the waves subside, it doesn’t mean we won’t be able to recapture it again with someone new, it just may take awhile. After all, the summer is nearing its end, so there’s never been a better time to go ahead and get your toes wet.

Appeared Originally on Homo-Neurotic.com on 8/19/09

Fire Island is a mind f*ck. What do I mean by this? Well, we’re meant believe that this gay getaway helped give rise to the circuit party, the gay orgy, and a whole host of debaucherous combinations of drugs, sex, and rock n’ roll disco. Well I spent a portion of my weekend out there recently and found it to be somewhat more benign than I remember not only from years past, but from what Facebook friends’ statuses and photos had lead me to imagine.

Now, let me begin by disclosing that I was invited out by colleagues that are some years my senior and arguably (well, blatantly) not on the same level when it comes to partying as my friend and I. Nevertheless these are the events as they unfolded which lead me to believe that the articles that have been written about Fire Island no longer being a welcome place for young gays, or solely a party haven for homosexuals, may have some truth to it.

We arrived in the afternoon and, after stopping at our hosts’, made our way to the beach, surprised by kids running between our legs. The calm and serenity elicited by the clusters of middle aged and retirees in beach chairs, was punctuated by lots of passing eye candy, many with dogs, and one group of young queens singing Disney songs and consuming massive amounts of Grey Goose and Crystal Light. Though I agreed their antics were a bit annoying, I couldn’t help but smile at the two boys sharing a towel while singing A Whole New World, or the entire chorus joining in for Part of Their World. After the show ended half the crew scampered off to their house, and not long after their ring leader apparently out for the count, facedown on a towel, began puking repeatedly into the sand. Though not the prettiest sight in the world, it didn’t seem to be quite the cause for alarm the elderly folks nearby deemed it to be.


A few minutes later they had flagged down three beach policemen whose advice was to get water and get him inside, much to the old fogies distress who were hoping for a full blown medical transport. Finally one middle aged man begrudgingly offered his assistance at the shrill insistence that they keep it down that night since he noted his house was near theirs. The whole scene made me feel sad to think how far the generations had drifted and how discouraging the older generation was of the younger enjoying the beach the way they no doubt did decades ago.

After a wonderful dinner and conversation that seemed to be bring my friend and me closer to the older generation of guys we were staying with, we decided to venture out to see the nightlife. In the city you always know what kind of crowd to expect when you go out, but out on Fire Island it seemed like a strange mix of seasoned vacationers and only a handful of fresh faces to keep it interesting. Everywhere I looked couples held hands, sipped cocktails demurely, and yawned through the drag queens’ performances. The young guys that were out seemed to be employed by The Pines and at this stage in the summer were over the scene.

So we took off for the Grove through the storied Meat Rack and met with only the subtlest of glances and absolutely none of the sex scenes I recall from only two summers prior. Had the fun really been washed away from this summer’s voluminous rain showers, or was the island shifting towards a retirement colony?

Nevertheless I did enjoy the escape and beauty of the island, and though we may have been in the minority, the ability to be our young, gay selves and appreciated by other inhabitants was a welcome feeling. But on an island where faces are hidden by sunglasses, glorifying the parade of naked torsos up and down the beach, and are only partially illuminated at night by the moon, I couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t me that was being seen at all, but just another young body who’d come to play.

At gay bars in the city, youth is so visible you immediately spot any geezer lurking in the corner. Perhaps we shun them, ignore them, make them feel like they are no longer welcome, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that some of those who are old enough to afford a summer share on FI don’t want to have to sacrifice their peace and quiet to accommodate the whims and disregard of the young who appear in stark contrast to the majority of its visitors. We have to learn how to play together at home and away if we want to share the spaces we all lay claim to. To society we want to appear as something more than ‘gay,’ and yet to each other we appear as nothing more than our age. Privilege is not exclusive to age, young or old, but respect and understanding can always be applied.

Something to keep that in mind for all of you attending Ascension this weekend.

Appeared originally on homo-neurotic.com on 8/14/09