how I met my match
From the moment he opened his mouth I knew he was different from the run of the mill single gay man. He didn't try to race me off. And he was intelligent. I found what he had to say interesting. He was also rather handsome, with his blond hair and blue eyes. The next minute I looked at my watch it was five o'clock. We decided to get out of the club and onto the street.
In the morning light, I got to see what he actually looked like. Some men, like vampires, just can't stand the harsh effects of daylight. Without the advantages of darkness, wrinkles, bald spots and bags suddenly jump out at you like a horror movie in 3D. But Kevin shone in the sunlight. His blond hair was very blond - in fact I thought the streaks must have been artificial, though they were real. And his blue eyes were brilliant. We walked up to the Californian Cafe where we waited to be served. And waited. And waited. Finally I said loudly, "Waiter". A sour looking, queeny waiter turned and came over to take our order with attitude. We proceeded to laugh at and insult this stuck-up waiter for the next hour while staring into each other�s eyes.
A sour looking, queeny waiter turned and came over to take our order with attitude. We proceeded to laugh at and insult this stuck-up waiter for the next hour while staring into each other�s eyes.
After 'breakfast' we continued up Oxford Street hand in hand. I couldn't believe how quickly things could change. A few hours ago I was putting up with no-hopers. Now I was romantically strolling along a street with a lovely guy. We walked most of the length of the gay strip, right up to Centennial Park, where we walked over a bridge which spanned an ormanental pond and took a seat in a glade (unknown to us this was a notorious beat at night). All the time we continued to hold hands. Then Kevin said, �I could do this for the rest of my life�, and I repeated the sentiment. This romantic idyll was interrupted when Kevin said he had an appointment. We were both disappointed but agreed to get together again that evening at his place.
Walking through the park alone I was aware that I didn't feel tired, even though it was now 11am and I'd had no sleep. I had an almost mystical sense of calm as I noticed the sunlight beaming through the trees and the way the water moved as ducks swam across the lake. I thought about the single gay men I usually met at bars. Too often they were bimbos or simple-minded guys who would tell me their life story, how they hated their parents or what dull job they did for a living. Kevin hadn't done any of that. He hadn't given me a counselling session or tried to impress me. He'd lived the day as it came. And he had a great sense of humour. But of all the things that could have stuck in my mind it had been one thing in particular: holding his hand. It had felt so natural, so right. Maybe he was the one. Maybe he was Mr Right.
Dinner was at eight. But instead of being an intimate tete-a-tete for two at Kevin's home he had invited a guest. At first I thought this arrangement a bit odd, especially as I wasn't particularly interested in a threesome. But the guest was Kevin's brother, who also lived with him.
