Horny Teenager/Middle Aged Woman: The Gay Dilemma.

“He’s hot. What a lovely set of ceramic pans. Look….. at….. his…… ass. Ooooooh they have matching plates. Shit, how is she with HIM. I wonder if they do these throws in grey………. and if they don’t, do I know anyone who could dye them for me? There’s that hot ass again!”

This is just part of the inner monologue inside my head on an afternoon trip to John Lewis (if John Lewis was pronounced TK Max, I’m poor). This is actually part of the inner monologue of my entire life. This juxtaposition of ‘Horny Slut Teenager’ waiting for the bus to Pound Town and the ‘Middle Aged Woman’ curating a list for her friends of the best handy anti-bac lotions and where to find them.

I have some friends who are at either ends of the spectrum, my ‘We Party’ circuit boy friends with their eyes on the prize (for arguments sake let’s call this prize ‘D’), the type of boys that my innocent high school friends would refer to as ‘that kind of gay’- gays with no qualms about wearing their see through mesh Andrew Christians (straight/boring/lesbian people, look that up immediately) to a nightclub, or doing God knows what (sex) in God knows where (a public bathroom) with God knows who (God knows who). Then there’s the other end of the spectrum, my knitting club, artsy friends who’s closest affinity with mesh is a John Smedley cable knit cardi. ‘These gays’ are your quieter friends, probably in the local am-dram group in their home town (I was a long standing member of the Richmond Operatic Society, people are still talking about my performance as the cowardly lion)(people=my mum…… If I prompt her.) These guys will go homeware shopping with you, and try that new vegan (heaven forbid) cafe in Dalston with you. Reliable gays that won’t cancel on you because they haven’t slept yet (We’ve all been there).

Then there’s me (and maybe you, and maybe millions of other gays on the planet but it’s my fucking blog so…..), slap bang in the middle of these terrible stereotypes (setting gays back 30 years) that I have written into being for the sake of paying my mortgage this month. I don’t own an Andrew Christian thong or a John Smedley cardi. I do however love going clubbing. And I love a pub quiz. And I enjoy reading. And writing. And have this app called Peak that I use for brain training (Peak, you’re welcome for the plug, I will invoice accordingly), and I love shopping for Joseph homeware at TK Maxx (TK Maxx, same invoice joke applies).

But for some gay guys like me it’s much worse than enjoying both ends of this spectrum, my friend’s nickname for me is ‘Mama’. I have this strange maternal side that manifests in my friendships, so much so that I will carry extra plastic forks on days out, I’ll make sure I have enough battery in my phone before I get too wasted so as to get an Uber for everyone (Uber, there’s that joke again). I will also regularly stop outside bedding shops to look at patterns. And once in Germany, my two very good friends were SO angry at my use of the word ‘cute’ when describing a spoon I had seen in a shop window. A cute spoon. Cute. Spoon. Get your shit together!!! All this ‘mumness’ whilst still going out on 30 hour benders. The type of ‘mum’ that has definitely has had her kids taken off her. Twice.

Now I’m not saying that’s your lot. Any human is like a cake. The flavour depends on the ingredients. So some guys have lots of sugar and spice, isn’t that the wonderful part about being gay, the extra flamboyancy that gay men like George Michael, Elton John and Geri Halliwell have allowed us? And some guys were baked with a thicker crust, a musky aftertaste and hairy rock hard abs, well that’s just hot isn’t it? Providing his Grindr profile doesn’t read ‘Masc for Masc’. Yawn. Or worse ‘Mask for Mask’. Genuinely seen that. Put down the dumbbell and pick up a book you smoking hot idiot.

There’s also a place where my ticket to Pound Town and my anti bac lotions meet…… That place is Paul Hollywood on the Great British bake off. A piece of TV that’s both sexy, and educational. Sexucational™ And I guarantee you can start a conversation with ANY of your friends AND family on the subject.

So basically what I’m trying to say is I’m a horny middle aged woman. I’m you’re mum, but hornier. I’ll leave you with that image…… of your horny mum.

Right must dash, there’s a sale on mesh underwear at John Smedley.

In a while crocodiles

THG

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