NORMAL LIFE: The Midget-Express, the Pope, the Gypsy and the Troublemaker

Bree came back late last night, having stayed overnight at the family summer cottage. Listening to news about his parents, his brother and his nephews made me realise how convenient it now worked out for everybody now that I had been banished from the family summer cottage because of Bree's disapproving father. "When will you change you lifestyle, and settle down?", his father had asked last Christmas. To appease his, I simply chose to not exist, to retreat into the background, fearful of being the one who could potentially become between a father and his son.

We decided to go out - Bree needed social stimulation. In our local bar, we saw all the usual types with some exceptional appearances. The first thing that caught my eye was the Midget-Express; three shorter-than-average guys who looked like they were doing the Locomotion, except the movements were more aligned to that of an orgy in an inappropriate location. Nearby, the Pope was dancing, regally dressed in papal robes, the white flat cap and black sunglasses! Then, there was the Gypsy, an arrogant, dark-skinned guy who thinks he is some kind of disco diva; he uses suddent movements to get attention from fellow dancers and, I'm embarrassed to admit, his tactics work. It's not that he is a good dancer, it's the amusement that he thinks he is a good dancer. Sad bastard! Bree and I were dancing amongst all this and, again, it was as if I didn't exist.

As we headed to the bar to get new drinks, a guy I had met many months ago bellowed a loud 'Hi' in my direction. Bree's hand was in mine as we made our way through the crowd and I forewarned him that the guy who had blackmailed me was here, the one who had threatened to tell Bree that he and I had had an affair which, I swear to god, was an invention in his head. This is what had actually happened: I had met him, I had spent two hours listening to his problems (most of which were self-inflicted) and, suddenly, he attempted to kiss me. Our lips made contact, but I brushed him away. He apologised for his drunken mistake and our conversation continued. We swapped numbers (I genuinely liked the guy, is that so bad?) and this happened about three months ago.

Then, on this very evening, the guy strode towards me, brushed me aside and led a reluctant Bree to a quieter spot some metres away. Bree was already smiling because, unbeknownst to the Troublemaker, I had already told Bree everything. A few minutes later, Bree had returned to my side, held my hands and, much to the annoyance of the Troublemaker - who stormed off - kissed me longingly. Why are socially dysfunctional gay guys such bitches? Why do they seem so intent on wrecking other people's happiness because they are unable to generate happiness of their own?

Later on, I bumped into my friend, the Swedish-Finn who, I recalled, I hadn't seen since the days of the Eurovision in May. I wasn't going to stress over it - it's better to let people decide when to see you than to force them to comply with your social needs. It was great to see him and we agreed to meet up when I returned from England at the end of August.

As we headed back towards the bar's entrance, I felt someone grab my elbow. I glanced back into the crowd and it was the guy I had met back in June (see here). To be honest, I barely recognised him at first; the affect of summer had graced him with a nice tan and, by now, I was less alert of my surroundings than usual from the booze. In what must have been a fraction of a second, I had glanced back at him, my brain registering recognition yet I chose to ignore him and carried on walking to join Bree. Why had I so blatantly ignored him? I will tell you why.

After last weekend's incident with JP (read here), my faith in people has started to crumble. I seem to be the one who strikes up a conversation, always making the first move. Yet again and again, people try to stab me in the back, accusing me of infidelity or expect me to wait on the sidelines until thy kingdom come to serve their social needs. Over the last few weeks, I have noticed that I have taken back the control I had so willingly given up. No more Mr. Nice Guy!