Coming Out – Impasse

 

Continued from Coming Out – Crossroads

Although you going back to see your Dad would mean disrupting your plans to binge watch a Netflix series, you turn right.

Carpe diem and all that. The conversation is going to happen at some point. Better to have it now that you feel recklessly confident than dwell on it for a few hours and give yourself justifiable reasons why not to have the conversation.

You arrive at your parents’ place. Get out of the car, head for the main door of the building and press the buzzer for their apartment.

You hear your Dad’s voice through the intercom:

“Hello”

“It’s me”

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

Your voice is steady. You sound self-assured and not nervous. Logic hasn’t set in. This is a good sign.

“Ok”. He buzzes you into the building and opens the door to the apartment. He is standing in the hallway.

“What is it?” he asks looking at you quizzically

You get straight into it.

“Mum, just told me she told you I’m gay.”

“Yes, she mentioned something like that.”

You sense derision in his response. A slight feeling of apprehension begins to set in. Though your earlier confidence is slightly dented, you remain calm.

He turns around and walks towards the living room. You close the door behind you and follow him. You both sit down across from each other at the dining table.

“How do you feel about it?”

“There isn’t much to say about it. All you must do is see how you can get out of it. Nobody has ever been like that in our family and it will not start with your own generation.”

He has given it some thought alright and it sounds like he has a way out of  your homosexuality.  And like his wife he may also be averse to saying the “G” word. But still there is hope – He has never been keen on Church or religion, so maybe he may yet say the word.

“What if it leads to my unhappiness?”

“If you are determined to get out of it, I don’t think it will lead to your unhappiness. Onye kwe chi ya ekwe. If you agree, God will agree.”

It’s R. Kelly all over again, believing he can fly – “If I can see it, then I can do it”. It’s a mindset thing for him. If you put your mind to it, you can stop being gay. Combined with your Mum’s “Pray away the gay” approach, it just might work.

“I have tried before and I can’t be with a woman in a satisfying way. Should I live alone and do anything? What do you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know of the ramifications of people being gay and what it means truly, apart from what I see on TV about same sex marriage and all that. There are people who have been in it and who have obviously come out of it and started being with women. Try it again and persevere this time”

Hurrah the “G-word”. There is hope! You think he is referring to a man in your village, back home in Nigeria. Growing up decades ago you remember him, then in his thirties as effete and unmarried. You thought nothing of it then. But you remember he had a fearsome and domineering mother who was one of the pillars of society. One day you heard he got married to a much younger woman and had kids. At that time you thought nothing unusual about it. Men get married to women and have kids. Except decades later when you became aware of your sexuality and during trip back home, you wondered if you were “the only gay in the village” and he came to mind. Then the penny dropped when you realised his 5 kids who were born in quick succession, looked nothing like him.

“Even at my age?”

“Yes, you can. People still get married for the first time in their fifties and even sixties sometimes. You are relatively young in comparison. Just try. We are not condemning you. I am trying to…you know…I mean people at home keep asking when you will get married….”

“So am I doing it for show? I would be living a lie. I would be making the woman and myself unhappy”

“It will not be for show. Just try. Everything is by trial. Think of what it means for our custom, our family and everything. Try and see what you can do about it.”

Ah, the shame of it all. Ultimately, it’s all about not bringing the family name into disrepute. Your family’s social standing in the village is very important and should not be diminished by any scandal – least of all not by the sin of homosexuality – and this must be done at all cost. Never mind you have serial adulterers and unrepentant scammers in the family, being gay would cause the family name and status irreparable damage.

“What if I can’t?”

“You can. Just try”

“But seriously, what if I can’t. There must be an alternative. What would you suggest?”

“Well if you can’t, you can continue like that, but you are keeping us unhappy”

“So, you rather I be unhappy?

“You will be happy. Just try. Listen, all of us will be happy including you. I am sure you are not happy with the set up. Just try. When we heard about it, we were not happy. So just try. You too will be happy”

“I am happy with the set up. What I am not happy about is that you’d sacrifice my happiness for yours and the family. Not very fatherly is it?”

“Just try.” He insists.

You begin to get irritated by his insistence that you try and find a woman to marry. You know you must be patient with him (and your mum), as they are relatively new to the idea that their son is gay. Being from an older generation if at all, it will take sometime for them to get used to the idea. But you still feel the need to make your position clear. You get a bit fidgety and your voice is slightly raised when you respond:

“It’s not a case of “Just try”. Homosexuality doesn’t have a switch you can flick on and off. It’s not that easy. I can’t and won’t try.”

“And just so we are clear, I am not changing anything to make you happy. I am sure it’s not what you want to hear but you are responsible for your own happiness as I am mine. So long as I am not harming anyone I will do what makes me happy and I recommend you do the same too.”

“All I am saying is that you should try. But if you have made up your mind not to, well let it be. But my advice is that you should try. Let’s leave it like that for the time being, but think about what I have told you.”

His voice is calm and authoritative. It is the same voice he used to reprimand you when as a young child you caused any mischief. The same voice he used when your mid-term test school results were poor and he took away your TV privileges to ensure you studied harder to get better end of term results. You recognise the finality in the tone and it said, “Do what I tell you or there will be consequences.” 

And with that you get up and leave.

Of the ways you dreamt the conversation would go with your Dad, it wasn’t quite the indignant Nollywood rejection or the mawkish Hollywood acceptance you fantasised about. Rather it felt like a Brexit meeting that typically ends in an impasse.

Forget the planned Netflix binge watching session – there is a lot to think about.

 It’s going to be a long drive home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Coming Out – Crossroads

It is a routine visit to see your parents. One you carry out once, sometimes twice a month. You spend two or three hours with them. You talk about everything but nothing. You help them fix anything that needs fixing around the house, but usually you help find a “missing” icon on the Ipad or other hand-held device.

You watch TV, the news is on. They give a running commentary on all the news items. This time it’s Brexit. There are over 500,000 people involved in an anti –Brexit protest march in London.  You listen to your Dad, a Labour party supporter, bemoan the Conservative Government and confidently assert that a Labour Government would do a better job of the Brexit debacle.

You really don’t know what the fuss is about. Supposedly educated people exercised their democratic right and voted in majority to leave the EU, albeit based on a campaign led by very questionable characters peddling obviously flawed information with a dash of xenophobia. Now a few months to Brexit day, they have changed their minds and want  another vote. Some would call it natural selection.

Somehow your Dad’s running commentary segues into the state of Nigerian politics. Your eyes glaze over. It’s time to leave. Your mother asks for a lift to the corner shop. This is a bit unusual. She normally prefers walking short distances to the shops to get some exercise. Doctor’s orders. The corner shop is a 2 min walk away.

Your Spidey senses are activated.

You say goodbye to your Dad and leave with your mum. You both get into the car and as she fastens her seat belt she drops her bombshell.

“I have told your father”

Spidey senses go into over drive

“Told him what?” You ask in befuddlement.

“About your lifestyle”

She can’t even say the word “gay”. It is that loathsome sin, greater than any other sin. And as far as she and most women her background are concerned it is a condition, which if remained unspoken and with powerful prayer , will be miraculously eradicated.

“You mean that I am gay. You told him I am gay?” You ask with incredulity in your voice.

Spidey senses are decommissioned.

Immediately you feel a sense of relief, not trepidation. Relief because your Dad is the only member of your nuclear family you have not come out to. You, your mum and siblings had kept it from him. And though it might sound a like a cliche, you never felt you were being as authentic as you could be with him and that was bothersome.

That said, you often debated telling him or not. And if you did how it would play out. And in all the scenarios – which were anywhere between an indignant Nollywood rejection to a mawkish Hollywood acceptance – that you played out in your imaginative mind, you were always present in every scene. Your mum and siblings maybe played supporting roles, but you were always the lead act breaking the news to him. A part of you feels something has been taken away from you and you should be angry, especially as your Mum was key with that indecision of  whether your Dad should be told or not, because of the “health concerns attributable only to an 80-year-old Nigerian man”. But no, you are not angry, you are calm. Just a bit curious how the scene played out between them.

“I thought you said not to tell him, that it may have “a negative impact his health and well-being”. You said it would “devastate him leading to untold consequences” (Consequences your “nagging” failed to achieve in over 45 years of marital bliss” you wanted to add; But not today Satan) “What made you change your mind?”

“I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was worrying me.”

“You decided to share your “worry”, despite the possible outcomes you highlighted. When and how did you tell him and what did he say?

“About a month ago. It just came out and he hasn’t said anything about it since”

You remember you’ve spoken to your Dad, several times in the last month and you had seen him at least twice. In fact two weeks ago, you took him to see his cousin a good hour’s drive each way and he didn’t say a thing. Not a word. He did not betray any evidence whatsoever that he knew. He just kept a poker face. You feel like a fraud.

You wonder what’s been going through his mind ever since your Mother unburdened her soul. Had he always suspected? Did this confirm his suspicions? Was the news a surprise? Either he didn’t care that you are gay, or he isn’t sure how to broach the topic with you.

Just then your Mother’s quiet sniffling break through your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed she has been crying. She can snot cry on cue for Africa – Viola Davis has nothing on this one.

“So why are you crying? I thought you’d be happy now that you have told your husband and your “worry” has halved?”

“It is the whole situation. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. Your lifestyle it is not good, I am sure it is hurting him. You are my son and I love you unconditionally, but the Bible says your lifestyle is wrong…..”

“Thanks for your love, but have you considered giving up your religion, so that your unconditional love for me is without any limitation?”

She looks at you aghast, like someone just stabbed her in the chest. You know only too well that her coming to terms with your sexuality will take some time. After all it took you a few decades to accept yourself – it would be impractical to expect her to be comfortable with it within a year of you coming out her. To help her on the journey, you introduced her to a gay friend’s mother (Aunt M) who shares a similar background and is comfortable with her son’s sexuality. But your Mum remains unconvinced. Instead every time she visits Aunt M she tries to convince her to ask her son to change, by quoting Bible passages and making cultural references.

You speak before she collects herself and says something that would require going into therapy rest of your life.

“Anyway, this is not about you right now. We talked about this a few times already last year and I have introduced you to Aunt M. How you deal with it is your palava. It’s about Dad for now and I wouldn’t know how he really feels until I speak with him about it.”

You drop her at the corner shop.

You drive up to the top of the road.

You must decide which way to go.

Turn left and head home, plagued with the thoughts of what your Dad thinks about your sexuality and wondering when/if he would ever discuss it with you or indeed if you’d ever have the courage to bring it up; Or turn right and head back to your parents’ house deal with it now, satisfy your curiosity and start a new chapter of your relationship with your Dad.

You indicate to turn…..

To be continued on Coming Out – Impasse

Crap I Get On Grindr – XI

I honestly can’t remember the last time in the past 12 months a Grindr conversation in London, has converted into a shag for me.

I am largely to blame for this.

Increasingly I am finding Grindr to be an endless source of mirth (second only to the current progress of Brexit negotiations with the EU) rather than a source of sexual gratification. I can’t seem to get past the content of the profile of the guys sending me messages without finding something hilarious about them. And I completely loose interest most times when I read the message.

I really need to change my mindset as I am not getting laid (via Grindr at least 😊) and I feel I am beginning to fall into the group of Time wasters on the app. Or maybe I am too discerning.

I have curated a few examples of what I have seen and done. And I also added a few from a friend of mine who was going through a particularly hard time, when he replied to messages.

I think this one will be waiting a long time……

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I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something not quite right about this profile. A “Daddy without Sugar”?? 🤷🏾‍♂️

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I actually felt sorry for this one. I felt his pain…Poor chap lives in London too.. 😢😢IMG_0603

There is alway one….🙄

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When all else fails, throw money at it…..😏

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This one said he was an “Oral top” and I wanted to know what that meant:

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So my friend Etuk Inyama Etuk, an avid amateur tennis player and Serena Williams fan, was having a really hard time accepting her recent defeat at the US Tennis open. Rather than slam his racket on the tennis court, he took to Grindr to vent his frustration

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Crap_Ekpo_2

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🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️

Upskirting

Upskirting is a term used to describe the act of taking a photograph up someone’s skirt without their permission.  In most reported cases women are the victims and no men –I guess Kilt wearing Scots –  have come forward to complain.

The sexually invasive act was set to be made a criminal offence in the UK parliament this week, but a 70 year-old Conservative MP gleefully blocked it on some parliamentary procedural technicality, causing him to face a lot of backlash on social media.  But this post is not about heaping abuse on some privileged, same sex marriage hating, climate change denying, misogynist neanderthal, who has used parliamentary procedures to advance his own lecherous voyeuristic sexual perversions, but rather it is to address a little deviance of my own.

It is no secret my obsession with the male gluteus maximus and by which I mean tangible buttocks. Butts you can behold with thine eyes.  Not the unfortunate flat non-existent ones a friend of mine aptly describes as “extended backs”. Sometimes I wonder what the owners of such bums must have done in a former life, or indeed what their ancestors did, to warrant such an omission by God when he was handing out butts.

Bubble Butt_1

No, I mean Bubble butts. Visible cakes. Butts you spank and the sound reverberates around the room and collides with the moans emitted from its owner with each spank, while ravaging him from behind.

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Or the butts you can grab and hold on to for dear life, as its owner bucks away furiously on top of you in reverse cowgirl position, like a jockey racing his horse towards the finish line.  Yes, those kind of butts.

It’s crazy because one of the first things I do when I see any remotely attractive guy in public is to discreetly check out the backside. I have always said if I was ever to identify a male crime suspect in a Police line-up, I would have to ask them to turn around to give a positive ID. Such is my obsession.

Recently, I have taken this infatuation a bit further – I now use my smart phone to take discreet pictures of guys with bubble butts. This could be in the street, on the underground, on the bus or sometimes at the gym.Bubble Butt_4

This morning while trying to take a picture of the bubble butt on a guy walking in front of me, I had an epiphany – as I tripped and came crashing hard on the pavement and aggravated an old shoulder injury in the process – that in some ways this could be similar to Upskirting but perpetrated on men.

It has the same hallmarks  – taking pictures of someone’s butt without their permission and it could be seen as a sexual intrusion into their privacy.  It is only a matter of time before men (hopefully those with bubble butts) in the name of equality, start campaigning for their own version of the law to be passed.

So in order to avoid any possible future embarrassment – you never know I might run for public office, I spent a good part of the morning while waiting to be seen by a Doctor at the A&E department, deleting images of bubble butts I took over the last few months. They were in their hundreds.

I am not sure what was more traumatic – the excruciating shoulder pain before being given strong pain killers or the agony of deleting those pictures.

 I think I need Jesus….

I wonder if He has a bubble butt….🤔

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Crap I Get On Grindr X – Job Hunter

Multifunctional

I have come across some profiles in recent times, that you would be forgiven for thinking that Grindr was a job app like LinkedIn rather than a hook up app.

And the way I flip between apps on my iPad and being a certified simpleton, one of these days I think I just might respond to a message in LinkedIn with one intended for Grindr.

I struggle to see how being a graduate would help one’s quest for a shag on Grindr.

It is as if by declaring “I went to college”, I would say “Brilliant, bring your skinny arse over and let me ravage it”

The other day, one guy sent me a message accompanied with dick and butt pics. When I checked his profile he proudly proclaimed that he had a PhD and was looking for a serious relationship.

Last weekend a “High flying lawyer” in central London sent me pictures of his chiselled body but flat behind, offering to split the Uber fare if I came over to his place. Cheapstake. How did I know he is a “High flying lawyer“? Yes, that’s correct. It’s on his profile.

It got me thinking. If we all listed our academic and career achievements on Grindr, mine might read something like:

“City Analyst/Full time bitch/ Part time hoe.  BSc (Unical), BEng(Unilag), Msc (Buckingham), ACA, FCA, MBA(Imperial), PhD (Harvard), CPA, LLB, LLM, CITP, AGILE, PRINCE2. Top, looking for NSA, drug free safe sex with bottoms. PLEASE be Athletic/Muscular with a clean butt.” 

Then maybe a gay MD of an FTSE 100 company would offer me a job post coitus.  I guess I wouldn’t have to worry if got the job due to affirmative action.  Assertive action definitely but not affirmative …but I digress….

Unfortunately, these accomplished erudite punters like the slim ones mentioned above, just don’t bother reading profiles or do, but lack basic English language comprehension, for why else would they reach out to me when our profiles don’t match?!!

When people complain that Grindr has killed romance in the gay community , I often reply that Grindr is exactly what we want it to be:-

It could be a quick hook up app; A source of amusement (both uses I subscribe to, though since Nov 20 2016 it’s been more of  the latter than the former) or; an app leading to a long term relationship culminating in a globally televised wedding, featuring a black preacher and gospel choir in a typical English Church, prompting inane comments from British television pundits about “never seeing so many black people at a wedding before”.

But job hunting certainly wasn’t one of the uses I had in mind for Grindr.

🚶🏿🚶🏿🚶🏿🚶🏿

Conversation With The Barber IV

Previous haircuts   Conversation IConversation II, Conversation III

It was mid-April. The London weather finally acted on the memo it received 3 weeks before and allowed the sun to raise the temperature to just above 200C.

As is the norm, once there is any hint of sunshine, Londoners regardless of the actual temperature outside and their body shape, wear the skimpiest outfits they can find in their wardrobe no matter how inappropriate it looks. All in the spirit Carpe diem, for we know not when the sun will visit us again.

For me, it is my cue to shed my medium growth protective Afro in favour of a low-cut skin fade.  So, I went to the barber’s shop and as usual we have the most engaging conversation.

It was early in the day and the shop wasn’t very busy. It would be my turn after the lady in the barber’s chair. I sat down and waited my turn as I watched gospel praise worship video on the huge TV on the wall, streamed from YouTube.

He finished cutting the lady’s hair and I made my way to his chair. We greeted each other leaning in for a Bro hug before I settled into the chair and told him the type of haircut I wanted.

Our conversation as usual is in Igbo and a bit of Pidgin English:

Emenike (EM): So how are things? How is work?

Me: I am ok. Work is good, I can’t complain.

Em: That’s good.  You still dey do that thing?

I knew he wasn’t asking about my freelancing gig with the now disbanded B6-13, but I had to be sure.

Me: Which thing?

Em: You still dey sleep with man?

Me: Yes. I said I wasn’t going to stop last summer when you asked me; I confirmed it again last Christmas and the situation has not changed since you asked me last time I was here 4 weeks ago. Do you have a guy for me?

Em: He laughs. You are not serious. I will be praying for you. In fact come to my church….

Me: Is the Pastor fine?

Em: Yes now. He is a man of God.

Me: Doesn’t mean he is pleasing to the eye. Does he look like JJ Hairston playing on the TV screen?

Em: No.

Me: Invite me when he starts looking like JJ Hairston.

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Em: You are not well.

Just then a lady with a pram tries to enter the shop but struggled to manoeuvre it through the door. Emenike abandoned my hair to hold the door open for her. She asked him if he had any other pictures of women with styled haircuts apart from those on the wall. He handed her a hairstyle magazine and she thumbs through while he returned to my cutting my hair. He was less than 10 seconds into cutting when, unsure of what haircut would suit her, asked him a question, followed by another question and yet another. All of which he answered politely. All through their exchange I watched her through the mirror, trying hard not to allow my indignation show in my reflection in the mirror – this woman was wasting my time! Eventually she left claiming she had to go to the cash point to get money to pay for the haircut.

Face palm II

Emenike returned to my hair.

Em: You were looking at her, are you interested? She was looking at you too.

Me: Looking at me in what way?

Em: She seemed interested in you.

Me: Really? What about the father of the baby in the pram? He might interest me more. Do you know him?

Em: This man, you are not well o!! Fine boy like you!! As manly as you are, you prefer men. Women will be dying for you. You need a woman not a man.

Me: I know!! It’s terrible, but then God knows best.

Em: This is not God. You need deliverance.

Me: Ok, I will come with you. But first do you have picture of your Pastor? Is he muscular? And I mean visible muscle,not muscle hidden under fat.

Em: God created Adam and Eve…

Eye roll

 This is Homophobia 101. Having that tiring logic NOT served up by Nigerian Christian folk during a debate about homosexuality is like being served Goat meat pepper soup without goat meat. Sacrilegious.

Me: Yup so you keep saying and yet here we are. God probably got bored and decided to spice things up. You and I have been here before…I beg sing another hymn; Quote another Bible verse. Meanwhile please trim my beard as well.

Em: If your father decided to sleep with men, you wouldn’t be here.

Another well-worn out pointless tired argument used by Nigerian Christian folk, which when not presented during such debates, is like serving Jollof rice without fried plantain –  Pointless!!

Me: You know gay men can get women pregnant, right? Anyway, we will never know. I am here, and I am queer, you will be fine in the end. Please don’t forget my eyebrows too.

Em: I will take you out clubbing one night where you will see many women. I am sure you will be tempted to take one home.

Me: Hmm… will there be men in at the club?  I would most likely take one of them home?

Em: How can? They will be straight. They will be into women.

Me: Oh so you think as you are here trying to convert me, there isn’t some other straight guy trying to convert his gay friend by taking him to the same club? If the gay guy is there and he his attractive I will fish him out. Hell, that is even too easy; I will take his straight friend home. But will we be going to the club after or before we go for deliverance at your Church?

Emenike Laughs. Then he gestures outside the shop window at the bus stop. There was a young couple standing waiting for the bus. She quite pretty and curvaceous and he was good looking too, fit but no bum.

 Em: The lady is fine with a nice ass. How can you not want to tap that?

Me: Quite easily. I am not attracted to her. Now if her boyfriend had more ass I could tap that.

Em: Crazy. Man to man is like Bone to bone….

Yet another worn out gem used by the Nigerian anti-gay brigade….and  I refuse to waste good Nigerian food similes on it. 

Me: Well I don’t know the kind of men you come across, but me I like them with flesh and better fine nyash (ass)

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Em: So you won‘t tap me, as I don’t have a big nyash? (Ass)

Ok, that threw me. No matter his sexuality, in my experience the most devastating thing you can say to an Igbo man (third after telling him he has lost his money and he is not well endowed) is that he has a flat ass. Emenike has a nice set of cakes which are proportionate to his slim frame, but by no stretch of the imagination has he got a bubble. Visible yes, but not bubble. And for me, it’s bubble or nothing. I had to break the news to him gentle, especially as he was about to shape my eyebrows and one slip, they could end up being asymmetrical.

Convo~_Bum1

Me: You have a nice ass for your frame, but I can’t tap you as you are a happily married man with young kids and what God has but together, let no dick put asunder. But I think women find a firm round bum attractive on men. If you do more squats in the gym, it will improve your already nice ass and your wife I am sure would be delighted.

Em: God forbid! What does a woman want to do with a man’s ass?

Me: For starters, something for her to grab hold of and a few other tricks to ginger up things in bed.  If done correctly, she could lift you a higher ground. But there is no time to go through details now.  I can send you a few links for you and your wife to go through and if you have any questions, ask me after you get your Pastor’s blessing.

Em: Yes, you need prayers.

And with that he finished off my hair. beard nicely trimmed and eye brows in sync, I paid and said good bye.

Who knows next time we could discuss the Joys of Anal sex.

Watch this space

No Sex Please, We Are Facebook.

Early on Valentine’s Day after being on Mark Zuckerberg’s good side for a good stretch, his crew flipped on me. I was banned from using Facebook.

What really piqued me about the ban and its timing this year was that I missed the mawkish valentine’s day messages, between grown men living together, appear on my timeline. I live for the absurdity.

No_Valentines_DayRead More »

Movie Review: Call Me By Your Name

Call-Me-By-Your-Name-Film-Poster-2017

I will be brief.

Without giving anything away that is not already out there, this film is about Apricots. Yes, Apricots.

It is set in summer somewhere in Northern Italy, in the early 80s when white folk threw their limbs all over the place in the name of dancing to music….It is now 2017 and not much has changed since.

The main character is a precocious, 17 year old,who mopes around the house shirtless named Elio.  He is on vacation with his parents in their house surrounded by apricot trees, in the village. His father is an American Professor and his mother a translator. They are a multi lingual family and dialogue flows effortlessly between Italian, English, French and German. If you never thought German was a sensual language, you’d be in for a  pleasant, albeit brief surprise. Read More »

Movie Review: God’s Own Country

God's Own Country

The last gay themed movie I saw without muscular guys dancing with their tops off in a night club and then copping off home with one or more guys to have wild drug induced sex all weekend, was Moonlight.

Unlike most gay films, God’s Own Country is not set in the concrete jungle of a big city, but rather it is set against a lush rural backdrop. You can almost breathe the fresh air as the camera pans over rich expanse of rambling fields of green grass in the foggy and wet English countryside. What’s more the film reminds us of how gays used to hook up back in the day sans mobile broadband network or Wifi.

Without giving much away, the film is about a gay farmer (Johnny) in the Yorkshire Pennines who manages to have hard, no strings attached sex with other guys without using modern technology (Read Grindr, Scruff, Instagram, Facebook, etc).

Then a Romanian worker (Gheorghe) who insists he’s not a Roma gypsy (which is a damn shame, because I have seen male Roma Gypsies around London they have bubble butts for days), arrives on the farm and an initial personality clash, they have aggressive sex halfway through a meal of hot Pot noodles. And just like that we get Brokeback Mountain on the Yorkshire dales.

Who knew Pot noodles was such a potent aphrodisiac?

 Romance blossoms between Johnny and Gheorghe as the latter teaches Johnny how to make love and not just have aggressive sex. A bit like how Khalessi tamed Aquaman Khal Drogo and taught him how to have sex in other positions, other than doggy style in Game of Thrones.

What happens when Johnny’s family find out? Does it end well? Is there a happy ending? As a film maker myself – I make home made porn – I understand only too well the displeasure of having the ending of my movie revealed to a non-paying audience, therefore I won’t reveal how the movie ends.

All I can say is that despite the story being told in an aggressive macho background with gratuitous showing of Organic British livestock- and I just don’t mean the grass fed cattle and sheep on the farm; there is a tender tale of love that is soul-stirring and the saliva lubricant sex scene could almost be forgiven.

Assuming my movie ratings counted for anything; I’d give the movie 4 out of 5 stars. Go see it if you can.

Meanwhile I am off to stock up on pot noodles 🏃🏿🏃🏿