Youngish, Queer and Single
I’m no celebrity, but I am queer. Not that the two should go inseparably hand in hand, but I often fail to be as astounded as I should at the speed of changing attitude.
Being gay when I was a boy was still naughty and not talked about. I remember living in fear of my debauched games of doctor and patient with Darren Arkwright coming to light and resulting in lifelong incarceration. And yet here I am, still only a boyish thirty-something, with colleagues almost treating me as the ‘token’ puff. The girls love me – that’s not changed – but now the blokes seem to see me as some kind of relationship guru: “me and Sandra have a bit of a problem,” one said recently, “what would you advise?” It’s so ludicrous. I must have more screwed up relationships under my belt than any of them, but still they flock in times of crisis, apparently undaunted by my precarious track record. It’s as if being gay gives me some special insight in their eyes. Funny I’ve never been able to benefit from it myself. But being queer and counsellor rolled into one still gets up the noses of the hardened homophobes. It’s just that in today’s modern employment culture, they just can’t express their prejudices as flamboyantly as suits them.
Being single seems to enhance my charms. I don’t particularly choose to be without significant other, but I long ago gave up compromising on relationships. I won’t let anyone do that ‘locking me in a cupboard’ business – you know, you can’t see your friends, do anything on your own or exhibit traits of your own personality. And deciding to settle for nothing less than a Moulin Rouge moment – who wouldn’t if it involved Ewan McGregor? – presents its own problems – if it’s going to be forever, it can never be that good. So why is it that being single is always seen as preferable by people in relationships and vice versa? Just because I’ve got myself together and have a pretty decent lifestyle shouldn’t be enough to make me such a role model, but I seem to be well on the way. I suppose the secret is making living solo look so damned stylish and desirable. It must be a gift.
I met a boy in his late twenties recently who was on the verge of ending a six year relationship. He wanted to know if I’d ‘go out with him’ – that old chestnut. When I advised that he may be better having some time on his own, reacquainting himself with the joys of being him, he was absolutely horrified. “Oh, I just couldn’t be on my own!” he protested. I explained I had been on my own for a couple of years and was quite happy that way, and that being attached to someone at the hip and handbag wasn’t actually compulsory. “I don’t know how you do it,” he persisted. “I just couldn’t!” Maybe I’m a freak.
I once interviewed Quentin Crisp shortly after splitting up from one of the loves of my life – a difficult but rewarding task on both counts – and his parting shot was: “…as regards love, couldn’t you just live alone? It’s more expensive but being loved is almost as much of a burden as being abused. Try it. I’ve done it for ninety years.” I tend to agree in the vast majority of cases.
Not that I’m against love. I think it’s wonderful, in its place. But it mustn’t be allowed to interfere with everyday life. A close friend of mine holds the theory that being ‘in love’ is akin in symptoms to mental illness. Many of the signs of madness – irrationality, loss of appetite and sleep, inability to perform routine tasks – are indeed present when love is suspected. So if you’re going to go barking mad, it has to be over somebody worth while. Trouble is, you usually don’t know until it’s too late. Ho hum.
I have another friend who holds hard to the theory that in a relationship you need to be in control. “I’ve been hurt too many times in the past,” he remonstrates. “This time, he loves me more than I love him, so it’s not going to happen again!” Oh dear. Only trouble there is, one day he might meet someone who sends him barking mad anyway. And totting up the hurt and damage there doesn’t bear thinking about. No, I still think on my own is preferable.
I have two more friends who met while doing a spot of cottaging. Very recreational I’m sure, but not what I would see as the soundest way to start a loving, monogamous relationship. The lack of trust is there from the start. They made an agreement that the cottaging – and indeed any promiscuity – was to stop. You should see the fireworks when one of them is twenty minutes late home from work. It could well be that they’re both being totally faithful, but if they don’t believe it it’s a bit of a bugger. And they don’t believe it – leopards and their spots and all that. No thanks.
Queer culture doesn’t encourage monogamous relationships anyway. But being unfaithful is not reserved for the gay masses – heterosexual couplings get almost as severe a battering these days. So maybe we all need to perfect the art of being single. Well, have the trick up our sleeve at any rate.
I’m not looking for Mr Right anymore. That’s not to say if he came along tomorrow that I wouldn’t let him find me, I’m just not putting up with any more Mr Reasonably-Oks. But I’m not practising terminal chastity either. If I meet a good looking boy and I want to sleep in the nude with him, I will. And if that makes me a tramp, then so be it. I’d never entertain the idea of unsafe sex, and my nocturnal parings are not too frequent, so I think I have a balance that suits me.
But surely that’s the key. If you’re happy blundering your way from relationship to relationship, good on you. If you don’t mind suffering the pain of a broken heart every few months or years, you’re a stronger man than me and I salute you. If you want to shag a different fella every night and that makes you tick, congratulations. But for me, I’ll go on for the time being fine-tuning this being single thing. It may not be the answer to all my dreams, but at least it’s stable and the pay’s good. And I’ve got more good friends than I’ve ever had.
But if you do happen to have a wonderful, happy, monogamous relationship that’s straight out of a fairy tale, just answer me one question.
What’s the secret?
Words Nigel Burton
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One Response to “Youngish, Queer and Single”
- Coming Out, Gay, Gay Scene, LGBT, Men, Pride, Queer, Quentin Crisp, Single, Young
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Brilliant article bravo
I too am a young thirty-something currently feeling very smothered by lots of my friends getting into couples all of a sudden. Perhaps the third decade is when we are ‘mostly’ comfortable being just “ourselves”, making it more likely we find someone who fits?
Whilst I’m chuffed to see them, particularly one, getting into loving relationships, I can’t help self-indulging, wondering when it will be my turn. Quite frankly I’m rather annoyed that it has led me down the naval-gazing road (again), pondering whether I too will meet someone who isnt “Mr Ok I suppose for now”.
Like you I haven’t subscribed to the relationship-for-relationships-sake approach. It is just cruel I think and denying my inner most feelings of anything is just too hard. My ex boss used to say I am incapable of hiding what I truely feel about anything!
I want to be able to put 100% into someone because I truely love the bones of them and will willingly do it 100% of the time and enjoy every moment. Anything less would feel cheap.
No idea what the secret is here, bookmarked the page in case someone points us in the right direction.
Peter, Liverpool