Well, it’s probably a good thing it isn’t, or nothing would get done, but the thought came to me as I was sitting here waiting for the plumbers to arrive.

If life were like porn, the plumbers would be hot, maybe one in his 40s, dark and hairy, strong but a little gut going on there, one in his 20s, friendly, eager and smooth, both wearing overalls undone down to the crotch cause of the heat, and that are somehow constantly threatening to fall off and reveal that big hard tool that all plumbers always walk around with. After fiddling with their tools and a couple of subtle comments and some serious eye contact, well, it’d all be on. But would your loo ever get fixed? After you’d all had so much fun together, would it even be possible to say “The tap over the laundry sink is dripping too” - bit of a come-down really. Just think of all the trades that’d be so much more interesting if they were just like in the pornos: electricians, pizza delivery boys, mechanics, and we all know about the Police and what they like to do when they stop a car with a single man in it. That is if everything I’ve ever watched on TVs in gay bars and clubs is true, and why would TV lie to me?

Straight guys often make me stop and think. And not just because I’m looking admiringly at them.

Now I have to say I’ve come to find visual porn does less and less for me now as I get older. I am not sure why this is. I far prefer reading something erotic or pornographic and making up the pictures in my head than watching it on dvd or in a magazine.

A while ago I was at a largely straight function, and in conversation I mentioned I was gay. It just came up. No really negative reactions, but one of the guys said he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing, but hey, two girls going at! Whoar! The other men agreed. Why is this “Two Girls” thing (I won’t grace it with the name of lesbian) thing so popular in their fantasies?  Because it sure is. All that”girl-on-girl”porn, which is designed for men, and they think is just perfect, if only they were there in the middle, has fed the image in their minds for them. It’s not often you hear a straight man, no matter how homophobic, say he hates “girl-on-girl” porn. And the idea is very much that they are “girls” not women. Not adults. Fantasy figures. And of course, the gay world is rife with fantasy figures as well in our porn. Yet I don’t think we get nearly as upset about it all as straights can.

I mean, I didn’t say how much I’d like to see two of them going at it, ( wish I had now) but there were a couple of hotties there who would have been fun to see naked and enjoying each other. But I have to say seeing two straight guys go for it isn’t one of my usual fantasies.

Now of course I do enjoy looking at what’s around. Eye candy - if you’re gay, bi or straight - who doesn’t like it? And in summer, some of those men on skateboards - meals on wheels a friend calls them - well, they have distinct erotic appeal. Not to mention some of the various sports starts and other icons that are constantly paraded before us. Not to mention hot guys in the supermarket, on the bus, and all those DILFs out there. But I don’t think they know I’m looking at them that way.

But so many straight men tend to get so pissed off if you even mention that you think they look hot. Yet they’re more than happy to speculate about the sexiness and what they’d like to do with women and girls, so long as they don’t actually overhear them saying it. It’s their guilty little secret I guess. They look at their wife’s best friend’s daughter and think “She’s 19 and legal and I’d do her”. Think of the whole MILF phenomenon: it came from straight guys considering boundaries they’d like to cross, beause after all, identifying someone as a “Mum I’d like to fuck” (MILF) is just a bit transgressive,just a little Oedipal. I find it interesting because they’re not identifying the woman as a hot woman, but as a “Mum”. But of course, we have our DILFs too, as I noted above.

But if we even voice the same thoughts about any of them, or any man in the area, we’re called sick, lecherous, or even worse. The old double-standard. For so many straight men, our sexual admiration is a threat.

Looking, and enjoying what we see, is a pretty normal part of being human. When does it turn to lechery though? I guess when it’s obtrusive, and clearly unwelcome by whoever we’re admiring.

With straight guys I guess there’s always that little bit of fear, that if we find them sexy, maybe they could find men sexy too, and then their whole world would come crashing down around them. Not to mention the idea that it’s ok for them to look on with lust, but not for anyone else.

Just because we enjoy the view doesn’t mean we want to buy the property guys. You do it, you look, you leer, you think lecherous thoughts of those pretty girls and what you’d like to do to them - so don’t be surprised that we do the same thing to you and your mates as well.

Let’s talk about you and me. Or, more generally, all of us fags out there in the wide world.

Gay men have a reputation, deserved or not, for being sexually adventurous, and for having way more sex than straights. Just how far this reputation matches reality is hard to say. There is certainly  more than a grain of truth to it, although not a few gay men do lead dull suburban lives just like so many straights.

But overall, I’d argue, we have historically been more sophisticated and wide-ranging in our sexual behaviour than not. After all, it was, and is still, easy for two guys to get together for nothing more than a shared orgasm. No worries about pregnancy and marriage, just a bit of fun between consenting adults. Or even a group of consenting adults. Or two bored consenting adults filling in 15 minutes of lunch break.

And the bigger the city, the more developed, the more sophisticated the range of venues, types and activities that are available. Let’s face it - Amsterdam is to Auckland as Auckland is to Twizel. Gay men know their bodies intimately, all the bits that nice suburban straights think of as “yucky” we take in our stride, as it were.

And even if the urge to get out and spread your stuff around does lessen as we age, there is always a new generation coming through, who were as we once were: Young, dumb and full of cum.

I do hope, however, that they aren’t full of the shame that so many of us used to have. Because shame is the big killer around sex. It robs it of joy. It shows a viewpoint that is “sex-negative” as they say now. The body, sex, bodily pleasures, all become suspect in this view, and something to be disciplined instead of enjoyed.

Shame does get very hard for those of us living with HIV (I tried to write a column that doesn’t bring HIV in, honestly…) . Shame, fear, self-loathing, a sense of being dirty and somehow wrong. Not to mention completely sexually unattractive. And from my observations, the more deeply religious the childhood  background, the more shame and sense of sin that comes to the surface.

But we HIV+ poofs can have, and deserve to have just as rich and satisfying a sex life as anyone else. Living with HIV does not mean that we must now automatically commit to a life of celibacy. You can be HIV+, and raunchy and fun. And you can do this with some who is HIV neg.This has long been one of the core claims that AIDS activists have made. We are still human. We are still hot. We are still shaggable. We are still loveable.We are still horny. We are, for the greater part, extremely responsible and safe in our behaviour to our partners.

And we have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

Yet so many of us act as though we do. So many HIV+ guys are terrified of admitting their status, of the stigma that goes with the diagnosis. And I understand, that stigma is real. But I suggest the only was we are going to get over it, or get our peers over it really, is to be more visible. The number of HIV+ gay men is going up every year. Your chances of coming across one of us (pun intended) are higher than ever. Yet so many of us are paralysed with fear over rejection, over labels, over that sense that we have somehow done wrong by becoming HIV+. We haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, we have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a bummer, it’s shitty, it’s not what you’d want, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of either.

The more visible those of us are with HIV, I think the better things will be. Think of the Mental Health Foundation’s “Like Minds” campaign, or the brilliant  and public campaign that Positive Women ran last year. Visibility, when you’re ready,  helps: shame and hiding cripple us.

And so back to sex.   And the recent discussions around the responsibilities of poz guys to disclose their status every time. The idea that it is the responsibility of poz men to always disclose is superficially tempting, but I think ultimately self-defeating. So many guys with the virus simply don’t know they have it. If you get men making their sexual choices along the lines of “He told me so he must be neg” they will have plenty of opportunity to increase thier risks of infection. Far better to leave the brutal but simple message we have: “Use a condom and lube every time”.

Because, we will continue to have sex, poz and neg men alike. Some will disclose, most will not. Many simply won’t know. But if we all wrap it up, we can all have fun safely. And that beats the alternative.

One of my oldest friends, Paul, in Sydney, sent me an invite to his 50th. Luckily I was able to go. But 50! I can remember going to friends’ 21sts, 30ths, 40ths but this is the first 50th I’ve been asked to. And my own 50th is a few years off yet, but I am looking forward to it. I guess the oldest gay friend I have is in his 70s, and the youngest in his teens: I enjoy having that range of people and views in life.

But it made me think about how long we’ve known each other - it’ll be about 30 years now. We met when we were both going to Auckland Uni, he was a couple of years ahead of me. He was flatting up the road from my family home, and I can’t quite remember now how we met. All I know is he forms part of a core group of my dearest and oldest friends. When we meet up again it’s always just so easy and warm and funny and joyful. He’s a great guy. 30 years is along time to know someone, especially from our generation when so many of us died so young. We’re lucky we’re both still standing, and even still dancing at times.

Then he moved over to Sydney, as so many of us do, and has stayed there ever since. In fact a lot of my oldest friends live overseas, Australia, the UK, and the USA account for most of them, but I have others in Brasil, in Turkey, in Italy and France. It makes it it cheaper when you travel that’s for sure. But old friends are about much more than just cheap beds when you’re out around the world. There is something to having known someone for years and years, even when you don’t see each other as often as you’d like, that makes life richer.

I know it’s been said before, but gay men tend to create our own family groups, especially if we felt our own families weren’t able to support us the way we thought we needed: it seems to be a common feature of gay life around the globe. And I think a lot of gay men have a talent for friendship, we’re forced to really, because of the ways we socialise and how wider society views us. We seek out allies, we form networks - and we’re damn good at it. You can tell how good the networks are by the way news moves through them, suddenly people are linking over crises or celebrations, word gets round.

It’s not uncommon in our world to fuck, then to discover that you like the stranger in your bed and become friends, but in my experience once the friendship is real I find it nearly impossible to go back to a sexual relationship. I can’t combine the two, though I know other guys who have no trouble doing so. For me the friendship becomes more important than the sex - you can always get sex, but you can’t always get a good friend - so I tend to take my mates out of my sex life.

You don’t always have to stay in close touch with old friends - often you reach a stage where the contact might be minimal on a day to day basis, but when you meet up again it’s just like you saw each other yesterday. I guess for me that is the sign of a deep and easy friendship - the way it all just flows and picks up again. I can think of about a dozen people like that in my life, and I think I’m lucky to have that number. Of course the internet and cell phones have made it so much easier. Where we used to have to sit down and write a letter, or budget an international phone call, now I can send a text to mate in London, or check out their facebook page or drop a quick email and it is so much easier to stay connected.

Even here in Auckland I still often hang out with guys I’ve known since I was in my teens or 20s, as well as more recent friends. I’m glad I’m still making new friends too.

You know about their history over decades, you have shared experiences, some good, a few bad. You understand how they think, how they move, why they do certain things, and they know the same about you.

Make friends, treasure them, and you’ll have something wonderful in your life.

I was talking with various friends the other night in the bar, and the topic of abuse and violence in gay relationships came up.  I was amazed at how widespread it is. Some guys viewed it as an inevitable part of men being together, and not too damaging. Others were less sanguine about it.

For me, violence in a relationship would equal the automatic end of it. It’s over. Locks changed. Police called. It’s just not acceptable for me. And then later this week I was talking with someone else and he told me of being in a violent realtionship when he was younger. I still just have this visceral reaction - you leave if he hits you - it’s that simple. Easy to say I know, but I think that’s how I’d react.

But violence and abuse can take many forms, it doesn’t just have to be physical. Emotional and mental violence, manipulation, guilt, insults and undermining can also be powerfully aggressive ways to attack the person you’re with, the person you’re supposed to love and who’s supposed to love you back. And emotional violence can be harder to counter, it can be passed off as “Just joking” . Constant lying, deceit, can also be seen as a deliberate act of abuse, something that will hurt the other person, and is equally shameful.

I had a relationship that turned out to be built completely on lies. The guy was leading a double life. He was, and is, a shit. I was astounded when I talked to others to discover that my experience was not that uncommon. I can’t say it was hundreds of guys, but far more than I’d expected reported a similar experience. Men who present a charming front, who seem to be so wonderful and loving, but then, when it all crumbles, reveal their true nature. And usually not a hint of regret.

We have another form of violence as well, that combines physical harm with lies. That is the act of lying to someone about being HIV+ and then luring them into having unprotected sex, pretending to love them, manipulating them, and when they eventually find out they are infected, promising to still be there for them, even though they’re infected. It is disgusting, it is criminal, and it is intolerable, but it happens.  I’m not talking about two guys getting a bit out of it and forgetting to use a rubber, I’m talking about HIV+ men who deliberately enticing someone into their lives with the aim of getting them infected. They exist, unfortunately. You only need one or two to produce a rash of new infections. Unless someone complains though, very little can be done to stop them.

So then there is the added burden of dealing with a new diagnosis, discovering the man you thought loved you in fact has betrayed you on the most fundamental levels, shortened your life-expectancy by 20 or so years at least,  and left you  not knowing where to turn or what to do. That is a real act of life-destroying violence.

I know that a few years ago there was research being carried out into aspects of sexual violence in gay male realtionships, but, if I recall my facts correctly, the researcher ended up finding the stories too traumatic to continue (apologies if I have that wrong).

I don’t really know how to view all this. Is it internalised homophobia ? Perhaps in some cases but I doubt that explains every case. Is it something inherently masculine? Again, I don’t think that stacks up - I’ve heard too many reports of the same behaviour in lesbian relationships. I do think part of it comes from the way NZ is actually quite a violent society. But I don’t know what the answer is. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stop asking the questions.

And if you’re in a violent abusive relationship, you don’t need to be. You don’t need to stay there. I’d suggest calling OUTline on 0800 688 5463, or one of the other help lines such as lifeline.

We have enough in our lives to put up with from the straight world - when those who are closest to us, who are supposed to love us abuse us, then we have to bring this out in the open, and get them out of our lives. Abuse is not acceptable or normal ina loving relationship, in fact it shows the realtionship is anything but loving.

We don’t have to take it.

I was having “the talk” with a young gay man recently. Trying to make sure he looked after himself, explaining about how HIV works, how much it sucks to have it etc, and after a bit he said to me:

“But you’ve had it for years and you’re fine!”

It was one of those moments, when you think “Arggghhh!”

Yes, I am living well. Yes, compared to where I was 10 - 15 years ago, I feel like the Six Million Dollar Man. I never thought I’d be alive at this stage of my life, and neither did my Drs. In the mid 90s I nearly died. I was in and out of hospital with PCP and other nasty conditions. My body weight dropped down to 50 kgs and I’m in the mid 80s now, where I should be.

I can remember one of the worst nights in hospital when they were trying to get my temperature down, and I had my hands in basins of ice water, a fan blowing chilled air over me. I was delirious. I couldn’t get out of bed to shit. I couldn’t move. I was weak, powerless, and scared. I’d tried acupncture, Chinese herbs, all sorts of alternative meds and they did nothing. At that time Western Medicine didn’t do anything much either, not until the new drugs that have saved my life and so many others’.

I spent weeks and weeks in Herne Bay House, no longer sick enough for hospital, but so unwell I couldn’t walk down the corridor to the kitchen, and it wasn’t that long a corridor. Lying in my bed there with an oxygen bottle attached to me - not fun.  Then I’d be sent back to hospital for something else. Then I’d be back at the House. I’d seen other friends die there. People died while I was there. I was sure I would too.I had my funeral planned. I was angry - so angry, with everything and everyone. I can remember that anger so clearly. Cold, intense and uncomprehending.

I was able to change my attitude, over time. Now I love my life. But I know how lucky I am. So many of the men I loved died in the worst days of the plague, before the new drugs came out in the mid 90s. They changed everything. from getting ready to die, I had to get ready to live.

And I think I’ve done a pretty good job of it since then. And HIV still affects my life every single day. I have to take my pills regularly. At first I was taking 47 a day, and it didn’t leave time for much else. Some had ot be taken with food, some you had to wait 2 hours after you’d eaten and take, everything was measured for me by the medication. And it still is. If I go out to dinner I have to remember to take my pills with me, or go home early. Luckily my latest drug regime is for some reason easier on my stomach. In the past I always carried a spare pair of underwear in my bag, “just in case” and I needed them quite often. I knew, and still know, where every available toilet is on my regular walking routes, but I no longer seem to need to rush into them in the way I used to.

And as much as I value the drugs for all they’ve done for me, I know that they are also taking a toll on my body, on my heart, my liver and kidneys. I have friends who have had their body shapes changed by the drugs, deposits of fat around their necks and shoulders, thier cheeks wasted away. HIV meds do strange things to body fat. And I know people for whom the drugs just don’t work. They are a tiny minority, but like any medication, there are some people who just don’t respond.

Emotionally HIV has changed me as well. I still find it hard to trust that I have a future, I still have a little voice saying “This could all go back to how it was” but I try and stifle that. Because focussing on it does me no good at all. Life is for living, and for enjoying where you can.

Men react very differently to you when you tell them you HIV. As much as they say they understand safe sex, it is still a deal breaker for many. And I suppose I hold myself back as well due to this.

So there is the paradox - a young gay man says “You’ve had it for years - you’re fine!” and how do I convey to him that in fact I am, but I’m not.

In fact, once you get HIV, it’s like adding a tiny drop of ink to bottle of water - you can’t see the drop once it’s added, but it’s there forever and you can never get it back. My life has been altered beyond recognition, my plans, my hopes, all have been shifted and changed because of this. I hate it, although I don’t hate what I’ve learnt from it, but it’s a really shitty way to learn a lesson like this. I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Realistically, HIV is here to stay. It is highly unlikely that we will ever live in a world without it. So we have to find ways to live with it. And I’m glad I have. But I wish I hadn’t had to do all this. I wish I’d been able to lead the life I thought was mine.

So never ever think that just because so many of us are living better with it these days that it isn’t an issue. It is, it imposes a huge burden, physically, mentally and emotionally on us all.

Yes, compared to where I was, I’m fine. I’m alive. I never thought I’d see in 2000, now I’m pretty sure I’ll get to 2010, and beyond. Life’s weird. I didn’t do anything special to get here, I’m not a saint, most people with HIV aren’t, we’re just ordinary people who learn how to cope. I probably won’t die from an AIDS related ilness, but from something brough on by the medications themselves - I’m aware of this, but it is still so much better than it was before.

 I think for me one of the worst things is the amount of control over my life I’ve lost.

But this reaction - it threw me - what do we do? Do we downplay just how well most of us are doing these days? Do we cease celebrating the good things that have come our way in an effort to dissuade young people from putting themselves at risk? I think now - I’m bloody happy I’ve got to where I am, and I can’t be responsible for the ignorance of others. I intend to enjoy what life I have left with gusto.

The hard thing is that to some extent, this young man was right. Yes, I’ve got this virus in my body, but I work, I travel, I go out, I fuck, I have a  happy and interesting life. Having HIV for most people today really isn’t anything like as bad as it once was. But that’s not the point, is it? With all the improvements in our health and treatment, it still places a huge burden one you.

Please - Don’t get it. Yes, we look so much better,  and live so much better - but believe me it still sucks. Please, look after yourselves out there and don’t add to the stats.

Young men often do not realise the dazzling power of their beauty, of a smile, or of a forearm carelessly draped on a thigh. Possessed of such unwitting power, I can’t help but admire it. I once had it. I didn’t know I had it though. I doubt they do either. I love watching it though, and watching them.

I would love to fuck Robert Downey Jr.                                  

And Sean Penn.

Or get them to fuck me. Getting spit-roasted is always fun.

I’ve been thinking about the punk/disco wars in Auckland of the late 70s, early 80s a bit. It was a real mark of who you were, how you saw yourself, depending on what look you took, what music you listened to. I remember Ruff (RIP - burnt to death in a fire in London rescuing her Chanel suits -seriously)  going to a concert in just a black garbage bag, torn fishnets and black stilettos, and lots of makeup. I wore makeup, eye shadow streaked on my cheek, and my hair was high and hard. There were fights outside Babes, one of the main discos, in Eliot St? I can’t remember. We sneered at Billy Idol for being a fake punk. We loathed Abba. We wore op-shop 60s black suits, with narrow ties, and listened to sad serious music. Now I love nearly all music. Funny the natural fascism of youthful bonding and protection.

I’m old enough to remember hair mousse in a can as a new product.

I was a gay hippy for a while, look at the photo and you can tell. We were going to live on the land in a gay men’s commune and change the world and overthrow the patriarchy. Then we grew up.

I had my hair dyed black with pink stripes for a while, and wore a woman’s black lame suit jacket on top of my jeans. Then I dyed my hair bright green (my hairdresser, Sheridan, stole the Krazy Kolor dye from her flatmate’s stock) with a big floppy pink triangle hanging down to my nose, a triangular fringe of cerise.

I can remember the sudden advent of DJs as celebrities in their own right, not just record spinners.

I remember staggering through the streets and alleys of Manhattan in my black leather jeans, my Docs, a white T and a black leather jacket, going to the Mineshaft after being at the Spike. I remember staggering home reeking of all sorts of fluids, amyl and that general raunchy smell of sex.  I remember dancing under the stars at the Saint, totally off my face on coke and God knows what else, surrounded by Gods posing as men, and loving it.

I remember when I was first in Turkey, being in this town called Malatya, and hooking up with this mad Irish guy who lived there, and turned out to be gay. We went on a picnic, to a waterfall, the water pounding down the cliffs into a big pool, with families sitting around, cooking shish kebabs, eating melon, drinking tea, some quietly having a raki, people talking and sharing food. And then we decided to climb the waterfall. Going up wasn’t too bad, but coming down, I panicked about half way down this crumbly cliff and froze. It seemed like hours but I guess it was just a few minutes of complete and utter terror. Then I got down, and no one else had seen how freaked out I was. Lesson: People often never know what’s going in our lives, even though to us it is amazing. And I never got to fuck the Irish guy. But he was hot.

Whatever happened to the smell of amyl in gay clubs? It used to be so pervasive, now it’s so rare.

I love libraries. I remember being the library at Auckland University, before the year started. Such a geek I went in early to explore, especially the library, where I looked up all the gay books. They were in one shelf, a tiny group now compared to the metres and metres of shelf space we take up. Anyway, I think I was looking at something on Gay American History. I was amazed - here I was at 17 and there were serious academic books about being gay that were positive, uplifting, showing wee actually had a history and therefore a culture. So there I am, enthralled, I stop to think, look up and then down the aisle. There’s this guy standing there. I look down at the book again then look up - yes he does have his cock flopped out ! And it’s huge ! Or it is to me at that age. He looks at me, I blush, put the book back, and follow him to the toilets for a great fuck. I love libraries.

I have been hit on by 24 year-olds twice since New Year. I’m not complaining, just puzzled. Aren’t I too old for them? The lust of the young is so refreshing to be around. They have so much careless energy. But it always takes me a while to figure out they’re actually after me, not just politely chatting to me. I’m slow on the uptake at times.

I once spent a night on a fisherman’s boat on the Golden Horn, in Istanbul, with four fishermen. I left a little after dawn. You fill in the blanks.

I have a remarkable knack for falling for the wrong men. You’d think I’d learn, but no, not yet anyhow. But I’m cool with it; I know myself, warts and all. I have fun.

I remember being young: Inside I still feel it, but my body doesn’t seem to agree.

I seem to have rediscovered dancing. It’s something I used to do so much, when I was young (er?) . I could spend hours on the floor, working up a sweat, just letting rip and having a great time with friends and strangers. But then, as I got older, I seemed to have less interest in it. I’d stand around the walls and watch other men dance. I’m not quite sure why that happened. But I seem to be back into it.

And lets face it, dancing is a lot like sex with (some of) your clothes on, so while I have been having sex, it was puzzling me a little that I wasn’t dancing in the way I used to. Was I too old? Too unfit? Too ugly to hang out with the shirtless gods on the floor?

I remember going to dances at Auckland Uni in 1979 when I was 18. We’d have a room at  the top floor of the student union, where Shadows is now I think, and someone would bring in a stereo from home (seriously) and others would bring records,  and we’d dance happily thinking it was just great. The unsophisticated fun of youth. And watching men back from overseas to see the latest moves. God when I was 18 men who were 24 seemed so old and cool. The punk/disco wars were still on at the time, and there could be a little tension when the style changed.

The Aquarius (later The Staircase) was still in Fort St, and I would spend hours there with friends, having to leap up and get on the floor at the opening bars of a favourite song. I remember dancing my arse off to Blue Monday in Alfies.

New York was where I saw the most spectacular clubs in the 80s. The Saint stands out as the most extravagant, beautiful space filled with beautiful men. They had installed a full planetarium projector so suddenly you would look up and think you were dancing under the stars. Hundreds, thousands of sexy, sweaty beautiful men dancing  with our shirts off. It was great. That sense of being part of a group, part of a, dare I use the word? part of a community.There was the Limelight, in a big deconsecrated church just over the road from where I lived, and also the Area, though the last was straighter and way more fashionable. All palaces of indulgence and fun, music carefully choreographed, bring the crowd up and up on waves of more and more excitement, then just when you thought it couldn’t go any higher, it did, and there would be an ecstatic crowd, almost like being in an evangelical church service, hands in the air, men simultaneously being in their own world of dance and also connecting with all the ones nearby.

The sheer joy of being in a room full of men, all dancing together, being nice to each other, sharing space, acknowledging strangers with a few moves in their direction when you like how they move, the smiles and good will. It’s fantastic.Whether it’s with 20 or 5,000, when it works, it’s just great. And part of what makes it great is the feeling of sex, of sensuality, of being connected, and all the potential that goes with it.

I’ve spent some great nights on the floor at Urge too, I used to go with a circle of friends, now mostly dead, and we’d dance sexy dirty dances, Dominic would inevitably ‘lose’ all his clothes by the end of the night, dancing in a leather harness and nothing else, Charlie would be his elegantly sleazy self, reeking of sex.

But as that group dwindled, I think I sort of stopped dancing. Not in my head, but I just lost something.

But lately, it’s been coming back. Rather reluctantly at first, I hit the floor at Urge a few weeks ago with a  friend who insisted and we just clicked into it the way you do sometimes, but in a way I hadn’t for a few years, and I realised “Hey, I’m dancing again and loving it!” All those voices that say “You’re getting too old, your body isn’t hot enough to take your shirt off, you look silly” they seem to have shut up. So what if my middle aged spread wobbles while I dance?

And last night, again at Urge (no I’m not running their PR, but it does function as my other living room) I was struck by the power of being in a room full of gay men, gay men having fun, a sweatbox with men of all shapes and sizes, poor, rich,  gym toned and gym avoiders, HIV+ and HIV - some good enough to be in porn,  most of us not, age range from 20s to 60s I’d guess, most shirts off, moving like angels and thinking like devils.

There is something potent   about that sense of masculine  joy and exuberance, of ease and comfortable togetherness that struck me last night with force, and me, I’m  glad I’ve found my dancing shoes again. And the ghosts I dance with are happy.

What’s the dividing line between joking and offence? Is it all in the eye of the beholder? Or are there objective standards that we can measure this by?  And maybe more importantly, do we have the right to go through life without being offended?

I guess it was seeing the news report last year about a London vicar who suggested gay men have warning tattoos put on our arses that made me wonder. He explained he was joking.

I don’t find it that funny I have to say - too many echoes of the Nazis and that American politician who wanted all of living with HIV to have that tattoos on our foreheads.But I’m not sure I want to shut him up either. I do value freedom of speech very highly, even when it pisses me off.

When Elton John got hitched, that apogee of good taste and humour The Sun had a headline “Elton Takes it Up the Aisle”  - that one I actually thought was funny, I don’t think it was nastily homophobic at all.

But suggestions we should be tattooed, I’m not so sure.

Then again there was a furore a few years ago over the ads for Faggs coffee - that one didn’t really worry me.I thought there was a bit of an over-reacton to that one.

It’s too easy I think to fall into the boringly self-righteous attitude that bans anything that might be offensive. It’s a bit like the idiots who banned bullrush at school - sure you might get a few grazes and knocks but life is going to be like that - it’s good to get used to it.

How much do we want, need or deserve protection from the slings and arrows of outrageous comments by morons? Bullying is neither fun, clever, nor nice, and if you’re a vulnerable kid, or even a vulnerable adult, it’s shit and unacceptable.

However, I think we’ve also got to be able to laugh at ourselves, and with others too. It doesn’t always have to be seen as a deadly offence that demands intervention and a crisis team of counsellors to check our battered emotions. It’s drawing that line that’s so hard, but I guess it’s easiest to see it when it’s been crossed.

There’s a an episode of The Simpsons when a Gay Pride parade goes by and the marchers chant “We’re here, we’re queer! Get used to it!” and Lisa shouts back “We are used to it! You do this every year!”

The entire “Pride” concept is simply dated - it’s too last century, too 80s, too pre Law Reform.  The choice of this name for the replacement committee for Hero really makes me wonder what they think they are doing. If the Hero brand is now poison, as it seems to be, then just what makes anyone think that “Pride” is going to be all fresh and new?

“Pride” was never a big movement in Auckland in the past - there used to be those sad little “coming out” marches down Ponsonby Rd in the 90s - and really, could you find anywhere less offensive to gay pride than Ponsonby Rd? The Pride Centre - a debacle, and also a concept rooted in the politics of 30 years ago.

Have you seen the logo ? It is simply embarrassing. It’s tired, cliched, yawningly unoriginal and dull. Which is most likely what this so-called “Pride” thingamy will be unless they can get some interesting young minds involved (Try the SOHOMO crowd). If not, we will be stuck with the suburban bedint excitement of Mt Albert matrons singing along to Bucks Fizz and thinking it’s the height of gay sophistication.

Pride is nice, Pride is inoffensive, Pride is normal, Pride is suburban, boring, and dated.

Heroic Gardens was going on anyway. So was the BGO, even if it’s on a stupid day this year due to a cockup with dates. There hasn’t been a decent Hero Party since the one in the Town Hall, and that was years ago, so I don’t think anyone really had hopes around that. Other events would have happened. So what is the purpose of the Pride committee? It’s hard to make out.

Auckland is the biggest, most sophisticated city in the country, with by far the biggest gay population. We have a wealth of interesting, diverse, creative and intelligent people in our midst. They don’t appear to be on the committee though. And I’ve already heard a few of them express their unease over this whole concept. Let’s hope they can be encouraged to join in and make this actually happen, not leave us with an tired, flacid nothing.

Me - I’m thinking of throwing a “Humiliation” party .