reflection
may 10

London

It takes a lot to crack your own mold. You build it by passively allowing your way of living and looking at yourself to go on largely unquestioned, save for minor tinkering with mastering the art of time management or minimizing annoying habits. Like sediment that gains another layer of mud with every year. For some people it takes an event, say an earthquake or walking away from a bad car collision, that triggers profound self examination. My catalyst came in the form of an athletic nurse.

Perhaps we primarily seek in others not just commonality, but that which we lack and want for ourselves, and when those qualities are close to your heart, self examination is not far behind. I found myself looking at some of my most basic elements and posing serious questions. I didn't like what I found, and didn't find.

But first, a couple fissures. It didn't help that a few days earlier, on my way home on a double decker, that I saw the woman with the bizarre black eyeshadow. Standees filled the the aisle of the packed bus, yet I spied one empty seat in the last row and saw no reason why I shouldn't sit there so I excused myself all the way back. The configuration on this bus had the last row directly facing the penultimate row, great for a family traveling together across town, but during rush hour it was an exercise in ignoring humanity.

I first spotted the woman with the bizarre eyeshadow at the bus stop and wondered why anyone would deliberately wear such dramatic make up before sunset. Then again, I had been forced to look upon numerous hair disasters since coming to England, so I quickly dropped trying to figure her out and instead wondered how I'd use black eyeshadow and settled on a black background with white streaks, sort of like a parrot, then my mind rode off into territories beyond, such as wondering what kind of clothes I'd make if I was a woman.

Another couple stops later, a hoard left the bus, including the small grubby family with the fussy goose of a mother sitting next to me, more standees shuffled to the back of the bus to take their seats, and taking the seat directly front and facing, the woman with eye make up.

Only instead of make up, the black color came from the funnel shaped hole in her face, she was missing an eye. My petty problems fell from my hands like dust as I tried to imagine this woman's life. She was travelling with a friend holding a small baby which smiled without an ounce of pity at the woman with one eye. I could not recognize their language.

And it didn't help that the next night I met up with Vicente, the co-worker who had been such a source of confusion and aggravation since we first met six months ago. A gorgeous guy from Spain, he got me my first gig in London, a three-way with him and a regular client of his named Larry. Vicente always asked me to be distant when the three of us were together, since he didn't want Larry's jealousy to flare up.

I could never figure out what Vicente thought of me, he'd send me e-mails about us getting together, he extended an open invitation to visit his place in Spain, yet we never met outside of work except for one dinner where he ditched me at the last minute, and a lunch where we parted our separate ways after he showed me clothes he bought. I think my role was the occasional ego booster shot.

But nothing prepared me for that night when I went to Larry's apartment. How could I have anticipated stepping into a modern 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?'. Since I last saw them their relationship had clearly evolved into a snarling monster, and I was trying my best to avoid each man's attempt to get me on his side. I sat there mortified, ready at any second to run out and catch the next- hell, the next night bus, as the subway had already closed for the night.

Clearly Vicente had abandoned any concern for retaining Larry as a client, and seemed to revel in Larry being unable to break his attachment to him. He mocked Larry openly, laughed at him almost continuously, then demanded that Larry give him a massage. I didn't know what to do, this was a major graduate course etiquette situation.

But eventually somehow we managed to have sex, and the drama continued to play itself out starting with Vicente lying back getting serviced by Larry while I tweaked Larry's nipples. I was not enjoying myself, but I tried to do my best. The session was over once Vicente came, Larry gave up trying to have an orgasm of his own, I was just relieved that the whole episode was coming to a close.

Vicente became too tired to get dressed so Larry walked me over to the mini cab stand and gave me extra money for the ride home. My heart went out to him, I understood the power of attraction, especially to Vicente, who'd left me feeling less than happy more than once. I wanted to say something, I just didn't know what.

At the same time I was enjoying my time with Chris and wanted to see him as much as I could, though we both knew I'd be leaving soon. Then, as a result of a major misunderstanding, my mold cracked and we parted, somewhat. As much as I wanted to see him while I was still in London, I also understood why he wanted to put as much distance as possible between us. I began to see how I was assuming my way of looking at life onto someone else, which lead to questioning my life, period. I wanted to make changes.

I shut myself off from the rest of the world as much as possible and got to work. I would talk to Chris when he called, but I never called him, I left contact up to him, he could back away at his own pace. I didn't go out, call friends, listen to the radio, watch tv or read the news. The great bulk of my time I spent with my thoughts and doing stuff that needed to get done in the pub.

After five days I had to get social out of necessity. Weeks ago I had booked a trip with the King's Cross Steelers for their last match of the season, an away game with the Manchester Spartans, and I had promised to take photos. My camera was back from the shop, and I was looking forward to spending the weekend with a rugby team. The night before I had a brief tea with Paulo, who had left for holiday before I met Chris, and I tried to explain that I was going through some heavy stuff at the moment and would see him later.

The train ride up was splendid, gold fields stretched to the horizon, actual living farm animals romped on the glowing green fields. Bawdy banter from the guys all the way up. We unloaded our bags at the hotel and headed for the pitch.

I was so glad I brought color film, the Spartans had bright uniforms as did the two other teams playing in the adjacent field, that is the ones who kept their shirts on. I had a feeling a couple of them were well aware there was a match between two gay clubs right next to them.

The Steelers lost but it was a great match to watch, lots of back and forth and some surprise bolts from our wings. They guys weren't so pleased they lost, where the Spartans practically gloated. In the clubhouse afterwards, the straight teams were the ones goofing off the most, mock copulating with each other and singing rugby songs and being loud and horny. Watching one man standing and simply rubbing the head of his teammate sitting in front of him was totally erotic. Although I basically just sat in the back and observed, I felt satisfied that I got the pictures I had come for, the rest would be icing.

Or more accurately the rest would be snoozing. After dinner at a Chinese buffet, we headed to the hotel for disco naps. Mine didn't end until 1:30am. Determined to get a taste of Mancurian nightlife, I washed my face, got dressed, and headed outside, where I promptly ran into two of the guys, exhausted from the night, and we all returned to my room to chill. I made tea but one started feeling sick so they left and I went back to bed, never making it past the hotel grounds. My roommate, a supporter from Australia, returned not much later and went right to bed.

Consequently, I got up bright and early the next day and decided to take in the sites while the rest of the crew slept in. I asked at reception what nice things might be nearby to visit and neither of the women could think of one; they said there wasn't really anything to see in that part of town. With my camera I headed out anyway, eating the fruit I had brought with me for the weekend.

What first caught my eye were the canals, so I followed one and had a great morning walk, even got a few interesting shots. After breakfast, which amounted to wandering around some more to find a place to exchange dollars, and getting some staples at a convenience store, it was time to head back. Several guys were nursing hangovers, some had got some sex either with locals or compadres, all were ready to get back home.

The train ride back was even more raucous than ride up and turned out to be the funnest part of the trip. But getting off at Euston station didn't end it for most of us, we headed to Barcode in Soho for more drinks, where I got the attention of Jose, who had peaked the interest of some of the team. He clearly wanted to take me home, and after a week of celibacy, I was tempted, but just got his number and promised to call. After saying goodbye to the guys I got some food and met up with one of the players at the Kings Arms for... yes, for kareoke. I did a pretty good Roy Orbison.

A few days later I picked up my photos, douple prints as I had a feeling I'd want a few for myself, and I was really pleased. And a little concerned. One player in particular seemed to be featured more than the others. I don't want to appear to play favorites, major stick for both of us, so I'll cull before I hand over the whole pack to the team, and maybe share the ones featuring him at another time.

Yesterday I played my first bit of music, the cd 'Simple Things' by Zero Seven.

next installment

list of installments

CONTACT ME
details | news | upcoming | travel | videos | photos | etc. | gear