The minutae of sex and romance

I spent last weekend in Auckland.

It was a refreshing change from Hamilton which although friendly and fun and welcoming can also feel stagnant; everyone seems to have an unrequited crush on one of their friends that has dragged on for many years. In Auckland I met up with a guy B. B was "cute as" and, armed with a thin layer of self-awarness gleaned from seeing "He's Just Not That Into You", I enjoyed sepnding time with him despite the fact that he ultimately didn't want a piece of me.

Indeed, I had planned for this consequence - after a day in B's company I indulged in Centurion, Auckland's premiere gay sauna. The Kiwis are a friendly bunch and will start up a conversation with you just about anwyhere - the sauna was testament to that. On learning I was Australian someone in the dry sauna belted out a resounding chorus of the Road to Gundagai in a very entertaining fake Aussie accent. Someone in the spa told me how they were on a round-the-world cruise trip, stranded for a while in Auckland while the engine of the ship was being prepared. They seemed to be making the most of their strandedness. Someone in the shower compained to me about the water pressure.

And then there was Mohammed. Apparently Mohammed is the most common first name in the world, so I suppose it was only a matter of time before I got fucked up the arse by someone called Mohammed and I could crack jokes about converting to Islam for 4 minutes and 35 seconds. What with Madonna dating Jesus, it does make one wonder though if there is something cosmic going on in the universe.

Mohammed had a small penis - it may or may not be comforting to the men of the world with small peni that their size corresponds to my ability to compromise.

Meanwhile in Hamilton I feel like Daffyd from Little Britain - not only am I not the only gay in the village, gays are everywhere, especially at work. Some of them are even attractive and single, although I worry about their ability to spell.

A particular case could spell neither "globe" nor "foxes" in a friendly game of scrabble.
My crush G can spell those words (I sensibly quizzed him) but can't spell "awe", orr, and that was how he spelt it, or maybe he was too lazy to text it properly.

He also cried when Jack died last week on Home and Away. I am disturbed by this but a little hypocritically so - I have cried watching episodes of Prisoner, although I sensibly take a nightly pill now that cures that sort of thing. At least we both like Home and Away, which has come up lately with some surprisingly well-crafted dramatic scenarios, many cute men and lots of bad acting.

G likes to tease and flirt, which may or may not come to anything beyond the drunken pash we had in a nightclub.

An excerpt of text messages between me and G:

me: OMG Jack is dead!

G: Oh i no poor jack, i shed a tear or 2, actually it was a lake but whos countin :) At least Geoff and Aidin survived.

me: Did you really cry? I was laughing!

G: Yes, I have a soft heart, lovely really not like yr heart of stone, lol :)

me: My heart has a hard outside with a soft and gooey centre. A bit like a roasted marshmallow.

G: Mmmm that sounds yummy edible even lol :)

me: Please refrain from eating my heart. If you are very hungry you can have one of my kidneys.

G: Thanks but I might stick to my eggs :)

At this point I thought I had achieved a minor victory by making Gavin send the very last text of the evening. Unfortunately he followed the text with some inquiries into my teaching, which culminated in me promising to give him a "private lesson" in "long division" and promising to be "gentle".

There was no response to this gambit. I hate sending the last sms!!

Whether G and I are going anywhere largely depends on whether G is a left or right brain thinker. If he is a right-brain thinker, our texts and conversations are imbued with metaphor and sexual suggestion. If he is a left-brain thinker, he is completely oblivious to all the double meanings. It is probably safer to assume the latter.