My Obsession With Gay Men

I am in love with David Tutera and John Barrowman. Let me clarify….I am IN LOVE with them! Like, I know that they’re both gay and married and no, I don’t want to make love with them…..okay, John Barrowman is HOT so if he was bisexual then, yes, I would want to make love with him and David is sexy but him, not so much. Anyway, I want to like live with them and be best friends with them and have them be like my gay older brothers.


I don’t know what it is. I mean I have many gay friends, I actually think that my ratio of homosexual/bisexual friends outnumbers my heterosexual friends, 3 to 1. It’s not that I so much seek them out as it is that we just seem to draw naturally to each other.

But regardless of that, I think it may be posing a little bit of a problem. I mean not like, I need to cut all homosexual/bisexual people out of my life, but it’s like, I’m celeb crushing on men that are GAY for heaven’s sake! I actually told Angel that if Shemar Moore of “Criminal Minds” was gay or bisexual, I’d probably start crushing on him again. And how warped is that?

I’ve poked around in my psyche for the reason why this is, but I can’t seem to determine the cause of it all. And it’s not that I love ALL gay men, because I don’t. I loathe Clay Aiken, have a slight tolerance of Ricky Martin, and honestly wish that Perez Hilton would take a very long walk off a very short pier.

Too harsh?

But there are others like David Tutera, John Barrowman, B Scott, Richard, Angel, James, Justin, Kathryn, Maria, Ellen Degneres, Jake, people that I know are gay that I find I want to spend so much more time with than my heterosexual people. You know those people that “society” says that I should want to spend my time with.

I mean, I guess it is kind of weird right? That I smile and get all excited when I watch “My Fair Wedding” just so I can see David Tutera or “Torchwood” just so I can see John Barrowman or that I spend more time on the phone talking to Richard, Angel or Justin than anyone else.

I love reading books by Mary Calmes, T.A. Chase, Stormy Glenn, Ally Blue or Amy Lane….you know gay romance books. Richard and I were talking about this just yesterday and I told him, I know that I’m weird and it makes no sense, but what do I do about it? And why is it that I’m so drawn to gay men? I mean, even though it is strictly on a platonic level, it’s still pretty weird.

So here is my amateur psychological evaluation about my obsession with gay men:

1. No pressure emotionally, physically or sexually. It’s purely platonic.

2. No competition like with a woman. We can both find a man attractive but really only one of us has a shot, not like if it was one straight man and two straight women.

3. The relationship between two men is sort of the relationship that I want with a man. Very few words, more physical displays of affection at home but not really so much in public. A definite understanding of roles. Too many women get in relationships where they are both dominant and submissive, but in a gay relationship, I’ve noticed, that there seems to be a definite understanding of roles

4. The ease of the relationship. A straight man and a woman seem to sniff around each other before one actually makes a move and then there are the emotions, the definite problem of the fact that they speak two different languages and unfortunately someone always makes it into something more than what it actually is. But a gay man and a woman? It’s very easy, we’re friends and it’s almost instantaneous.

5. The laughter, the drama, the passion, the over-the-top expressions. For some reason, any gay man that I’ve been around, even the laid-back ones, when I’m around them, I laugh more and everything is like being on Broadway…everything.

6. The great balance of woman and man. I get the emotional compassion and understanding of a woman, but the insight, the phsyical strength, the fix-it attitude of a man. It’s perfect.

7. The level of comfort. I guess this sort of goes back to #4 with the ease of the relationship, but there’s no judging when I talk to my gay guys and funny as it may seem to my heteros, when I tell one of my gay guys how much I LOVE them, they just smile, hug me and tell me that I am “so precious” and that they love me too.

8. No judging. Not about my past, my present or what I want to do with my future. They may judge my clothing, my hair, my makeup and even what guy I want to date, but the things that matter? There’s only understanding.

9. They are beautiful. I could sit and just look at a gay man like David Tutera or John Barrowman or Sky ( http://www.thinlinebetween.tumblr.com ) and never ever grow bored. I have yet to see a gay man that I didn’t see something beautiful about.

10. The passion. Gay men sort of remind me of Italians. They are passionate about EVERYTHING and so am I. It’s surreal and kismet and such a relief to know that there are others who get just as fired up as I do about certain issues. And not just talk about it, but put action into words.

Gay men are my soul-mates I guess you could say. Maybe that’s my obsession with them? Every one of them that I have met I feel a connection with on a certain level and when I’m around them I can breathe easier, I am more comfortable than if I am surrounded by women, where I instantly feel like I have to look, talk, act, move, think and believe a certain way, where I feel instant competition and it’s a competition to the death (or the altar-which is pretty much the same thing in some circles). It is more comfortable than being surrounded by straight men, because in the same manner I feel as though I have to look, talk, act, move, think and believe a certain way because hell, one of them could be the perfect guy for me, or doing the wrong thing could make me get raped or hit on or flirted with.


Maybe that’s what it is.

I am comfortable with gay men, at ease with them. AT PEACE with them. And really, once you find the source of your peace, don’t you spend every moment, every resource, do all you can do, to surround yourself with that source of peace?

Thunderstorms

So, while reading a few short stories online, I came across a story about a couple who for different reasons are afraid of storms and their affects. It of course made me think about my own fear of storms, or rather my own sense of foreboding and hesitation over them. Like all fear it is connected to a memory, a bad one.

I was a young woman, a girl really and it was storming outside. I had gone to visit a friend of mine and was spending the night. She'd gone to take a shower and her brother, whom I found incredibly attractive, was home. He'd come into the living room where I'd been watching the Olsen twins in "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" (yeah, this was a while ago). He'd asked me how long I'd known his sister, if she was my best friend, things like that. He was making small talk, putting me at ease, which didn't take too long. I was a lot more mature than my other friends by the time I was 10. Much of which was due to things I'd experienced earlier in my childhood. I remember that it didn't take long before I was smiling and laughing with him. I'd been raised in a very strict, very correct and upstanding "Christian" household. I put the quotations because while my mother was the embodiment of a true Christian, my father was only the shell of one. But that's neither here nor there.

Because of my upbringing in this staunch Christian household, my parents had pretty much glazed over the whole sex talk thing. I do believe that when I started my monthly cycle at the age of 9, my father took me out for ice cream, told me that now I could get pregnant. That sex was where babies came from and that sex was only for married people. So when my friend's brother asked me to come to his room and then asked me if I wanted to play a game called sex, I was of course, reticent, about the whole thing.

"My mommy and daddy said that sex is only for married people and that that's where babies come from." I'd told him with sincerity and innocence, completely trusting.

"Oh no, they got it wrong. Making love is for married people. And babies come from inside of the mommy's belly. But you can't get a baby from playing sex and anyone can play it," he'd responded, sounding so sure, so certain, so knowledgeable and HELPFUL that I believed him almost instantly.

Well, anyone can deduce what happened between me, a 10 year old girl, a P.K. (Preacher's Kid) and this 16 year old "man". After getting me to take off my clothes and lay down on the bed, after hurting me, after ignoring my please and cries for him to stop, after he'd finished with me, told me to get dressed and then pushed me out of the room, I was afraid of storms. You see, it had been storming really hard in Meridian, Mississippi that day. Oh I can sleep through some of them, if I fell asleep before the storm started and I've taken the right "painkiller cocktail" I can sleep through almost anything, but if I'm awake when the storm starts, well, I stay awake through the entire thing, my hands slightly shaking, my throat tight, my mind struggling not to remember.

As I read this story, I struggled with my own memories of that night. Then I struggled with memories of the two men that I'd shared that story with and of their two different reactions. I'd shared that story with Christopher, my fiance, shortly after seeing a senior citizen get mowed down by a vehicle in the middle of the street (I still remember that incident with clarity) and with Brandon, someone I still cannot identify even after all this time (was he my boyfriend, my friend? What the hell were we to each other?). And just like the two of them, their reactions were like night and day. Brandon listened to me as I shared with him this painful story, said "Aaww baby, I'm so sorry. C'mere" and pulled me into his arms, rubbing my back as I jumped at every sound of thunder, falling asleep way before I did, forgetting the entire incident in the morning. Whereas Christopher, my knight in shining armor, listened, pulled me roughly into his arms and then demanded the name of the boy who'd raped me. When I refused to give it to him, because really, it had been 11 years by that point, the statute of limitations was up and honestly, I'd gotten past it....for the most part. Realizing that I had no plans to tell him, he'd sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We sat there for almost fifteen minutes just holding each other. Then he'd laid down on the bed and held me in his arms, then he began to talk to me about our future together. How many children he wanted us to have, the house he wanted us to live in, how he'd be the man behind the woman when I took over the world with my writing, acting, singing, dancing and non profit organizations.

Christopher whispered words of love to me, cherishing me as I relived the painful memory. Then he held me in his arms, singing softly to me (off-key and out of tune) until I fell asleep.

People will always have different reactions to your life story. Everyone has one, everyone has a special sort of "life hell" that they'll have to endure and people around you will respond to it and to you differently. You'll lose people from your life when they're unable to handle it or to understand you or the situation(s) you'll endure. People will enter your life because they see you going through hell and it makes them feel better about themselves and their own lives. Then there are those people, the Christophers, who want to fight on your behalf, who love you, who draw you through the thunderstorms, protecting you, loving you, until the hell, the storm passes or until you find peace.

It's the difference between those people who are temporary dwellers in your life and those who are etched into your life. In a year or so, a few months Brandon will be completely forgotten by me (and not a moment too soon), but Christopher will be remembered by me forever. He, I will never forget, and will never want to forget.

I may have met Brandon after Christopher passed away, but it's Christopher who is freshest on my mind. He is the reason why I only shake a little when I hear a thunderstorm rather than fiercely shaking and crying silently when one hits. I will remember him forever. I will love him forever. And that's just something that you don't ever forget.

Is there something in your life that's tied to a painful memory? How can you tie that thing to something positive? Who is the person in your life who can help? Think about this today.

Have a great weekend all!

Growing Up

When I was younger everything got to me, the slightest provocation, the slightest insult, criticism, but for some reason my 26th birthday changed so much for me. I realized that I was worth so much more than I was expressing to others. I realized that others opinions of me was just that, an opinion and their opinion does not DEFINE me.

I was recently in a relationship, and this relationship was kind of the proverbial nail in the relationship coffin for me. I was EVERYTHING to this guy. I was his fount of knowlege and wisdom. I was his cheering section, his biggest fan. I was his cook, his maid. His dog walker. His housekeeper. His lover. His advisor. I met his family, I fell in love with his family and they in turn fell in love with me. I, who was hesitant about marriage already, found myself daydreaming about spending the rest of my life with this man. I lost myself in him. I lost my identity, my purpose. Oh, I still talked about it, but only to him, and he encouraged me in one breath but in the next breath kept me in my place as a woman who lived to serve him. He doled out his affections like Christmas presents and I found myself like a little puppy, so excited when that small treat came, a cuddle here, holding my hand in public here, a kiss there. Don't get me wrong the relationship wasn't all bad, but unlike what I fooled myself into believing, it wasn't all good either.

I think that's something that we all do. Not just women, but men also. We get in these relationships because we're either desperate for companionship or because of some illusion we have about the person we want to spend the rest of our life with. Then we start making concessions and excuses for their behavior, their lack of appreciation, their total disregard for us. We settle. We grow complacent. We wind up entangled, ensnared, trapped in a relationship that we probably shouldn't have been in in the first place. Everyone has their flaws, their quirks, habits and shortcomings and I don't deny that, but if you'd determined within yourself that you wouldn't spend the rest of your life with someone who was in favor of abortion and then you meet someone who favors it but you're at a season of your life when you or those around you feel as if you should have settled down, would you compromise?

I guess that's what this blog boils down to. What are you willing to compromise on? In my last relationship, I compromised on almost everything. Losing myself, my dignity, my identity because of the opinions and the expectations of others. I've gotten to the point now in my life where the opinions and expectations of others don't affect me like they used to. Whereas they used to provide 97% of the foundation for my life and actions they now provide 3%, the 97% comes from within. I found that inner strength, that inner wisdom. Oh, I still hear the snide comments, the remarks, the opinions and "well-meaning," "good-natured" advice from those who surround me telling me to do this or to not do that or that I should get over this or that I need to prepare myself to get married one day (*scoff*) but now I just smile, nod my head and continue on my way.

You see, I encourage myself now. I advise myself. I cook for myself. I make money for myself. For what I want to do. My personality is still there. I'm still just as giving, generous and selfless as I always was, but I'm no longer the pushover, the little girl desperately seeking approval, admiration, encouragement, love. I approve myself, I admire myself, I encourage myself and I love myself. I encourage you to encourage yourself everyday, to love yourself everyday. No one else's love, encouragement, approval, or admiration will fulfill you quite as much as your own does.

This was just something on my mind, so I thought I'd share. Oh by the way, since my relationship with my ex ended, I started writing my second book, I lost twenty pounds, I got in shape, I started eating better, got a great job, found myself, and remembered what makes me me. The ending of that relationship was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Remember that. Sometimes watching someone walk away from your life means welcoming someone or something new into your life.