My sauna quandary

I love saunas. Always have. The way the heat works its way into your bones, how it compels you to relax, the feel of "sweating it out". It's a treat to allow myself that time to just sit and let the sauna work on me. I guess it's a similar to the way that some people love to soak in the bath.

I think I inherited my love of super-high-temperatures from my Dad. During my childhood, we'd occasionally get to stay in a 'posh hotel', often as a result of my Dad's work schedule - and we'd all gleefully avail ourselves of the leisure facilities - much to the po-faced disgust of the fare-paying regulars, dismayed at the sight of a young family invading their sanctuary. After goofing around in the pool, we'd always try the sauna, and my Dad would outlast us all, emerging victorious with a grin and a rosy glow.

All fine and good and wholesome. But saunas have always had that 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' suggestion of something that's not quite 'proper'. How can saunas be above-board and respectable when there's all that exposed flesh?!

But when you overlap 'sauna' with 'gay', there's a whole new dynamic. Benny Hill becomes sexual bacchanalia.

Now, I for one, am not going to get prudish about the jubilant expression of same-sex desire.

After all, most of us (of that persuasion) have had to endure long adolescences (and more!) where the options for expressing those desires were few and far between. No wonder we want to go a little crazy, reveling in the freedom to Get. On. Down when the constraints are lifted. We're the proverbial kids in the candy store.

I guess, in times of yore, when the gays weren't Gays, they were just Men Who Have Sex With Men. And MSMs tended to find other MSMs hanging-out in single-sex environments, where clothes were less constricting....hence the role that cottages / tea-rooms / beats / bathhouses / saunas / swimming ponds played in the early expression of same-sex desire, and the nascent development of a cultural identity around 'the love that dared not speak its name'.

But for those of us lucky enough to live in the isolated havens of gay liberation (like San Francisco, London or Sydney) however, things have moved-on. The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name is now grown confident enough to be The Love That Shouts About It From The Rooftops. And many are the opportunities for exuberant expression of our same-sex desire.

Hallelulah and gaymen to all that. It's progress. And what we fought for.

So. Here's the rub. I enjoy going to the gym at a (predominantly) gay gym in San Francisco. I prefer it. There's none of the testosterone fuelled-swagger that you get from the guys in most straight gyms. Of course, there is a clear 'pecking-order' from the hottest, buffest gym god down to the lowliest skinniest (or chubbiest) wheezing whimps. But, there's a cameraderie and lack of bravado that I like.

But.

I can't use the sauna. Well, I *CAN*. But to feel comfortable, I have to do it outside the peak hours of 4-7pm. Why? Well, it's a gay space. And at those times, a critical mass of horniness is reached. And suddenly we're back to bacchanalia. You know those gays. They're Up For It 24-7. Can't get enough of it. Can't help it. Untrammeled Martini homo-sex.

And so I can't just sit and sweat - because there's more than relaxation on the minds of most of the sauna users.

Now. My first reaction was a Hugh Grant-esque British bumbling apology. "Ah! Sorry! You want to, erm...jerk-off! Yes. Of course. Excuse me, didn't mean to - erm - intrude. Carry-on! I'll just, erm, I'll just erm. Leave. Sorry". I didn't want to spoil their fun by being a kill-joy, not wanting to participate and not wanting to 'rain on their parade', so I just - ahem - withdrew.

But, now I'm getting peeved. I pay good money to use a gym, and all of the facilities that it provides. There are PLENTY of places to get off in San Francisco - I mean, the town is chock

full of backrooms, pick-up joints, porn theatres and other venues that are explicitly designed for sex-on-the-premises. And it's not like we don't have a multitude of online possibilities. (I have no problem with people cruising Grindr in the changing rooms, which I see quite frequently...) As for people who like to smoke...please use the smoking section. For those who like to play, please use the designated 'play areas'.

Questions:

1. Am I being a prude?

2. Am I being unfair? They were there first...shouldn't they be allowed to carry on?

3. Does being gay mean that free-wheeling sexual expression is the norm?

4. If I go to a gay gym, is that just 'par for the course'?

In Pride we trust?

It's a very grey, rainy Tuesday morning here in San Francisco. In fact, the downpour hasn't slowed in the past three hours. The cloud is low - and from up here in Twin Peaks, all I can see of the skyscrapers in downtown San Francisco are a few shrouded silhouettes, lost in the mist.

It's a world away from the sun and rainbows and warmth of this weekend's festivities: the 41st annual San Francisco Pride Celebration & Parade.

Now I'm a veteran of more than a handful of Gay Pride celebrations: my Pride cherry was popped back in London in 1993. At the time, Pride in London was still a relatively youthful and vocal 21 year old, whilst I was 19; wide-eyed and impressionable. And I loved that experience. I was awestruck by our sheer numbers, and made giddy by the feeling of strength that came from that. I loved the sense of camaraderie and shared celebration. It was something that I'd never experienced before - and I just lapped it up.

And since then I've done bite-sized and bucolic (Oxford), brassy and boozy (Manchester), slick and staged (Sydney) - and so I was looking forward to experiencing the daddy of gay prides here in San Francisco... which (along with New York) has been around the longest of all.

And, you know what? Rather than enjoying the confidence and maturity of the best years of your life, this 41 year old is having a bit of a mid-life crisis. Who am I? Why am I here? What do I want out of life?

And watching someone deal with their midlife crisis is never a pretty sight...

The Parade itself was a muddle of competing and contradictory niche causes: the Pink Pistols (a gay gun shooters group) armed with sex-toys, under a banner of "Rubber toys don't stop bad boys" (What the fuck?) followed by

pacifist lesbian vegetarians, gay christians walking in a march with gay humanists, our stridently independent Dykes on Bikes leading a parade that behind them includes women in bridles and

reins, pulling their men behind them in carts, whilst being swatted with riding crops. I can feel the most tenuous of rainbow threads between these groups straining to hold things together.

I mean, planning the parade order must have been like seating the most bitchy of dinner party guests: "Oooh, we can't have Planned Parenthood sitting next to the gay Catholics - they might not live-up to their name of 'Dignity San Francisco'...!"

Where was the consistent theme? Apparently, it was "In Pride we Trust". But what on Earth does that actually mean? What about Pride do we actually trust? Since my first euphoric, Damascene conversion to the cause of Gay Pride in London in 1993, I've lost my way. I'm not sure I believe in the power of these congregations anymore. So, rather than "In Pride We Trust", I'd paraphrase as "We hope that we can wring another couple of years out of this train-wreck before it all goes bust".

But, (and I'll get my trusty soapbox at the ready), wasn't this an opportunity to take-up a current cause? To make a statement? To shout, and demand and clamour? We had the massive victory for marriage equality in New York the day before. Where were the demands to achieve those same rights here in California? (We were waiting for someone to sing to the tune of New York, New York: "If I can (boom, boom) MARRY there, I'll marry (boom, boom) ANYWHERE...")

And it was just too damn long. We didn't manage to last-out the entire parade, having stood around on Market Street from 10.30am, it's hard to maintain interest when there are 10-minute gaps between floats, and so at 1.30pm (after three hours of standing around), we decided to call it a day. Never mind the quality, feel the LENGTH!

What the hell was with all the religious groups? And all the bloody politicians? Do we all have some form of rainbow-induced amnesia? But doesn't anyone remember the fact that the church (or, more accurately, organised religion) and the State have been happy to crimininalise and demonise us for years (look at this link, you can see that in the US, gay sex only became legal for a MAJORITY of the US population around 1985...). Now, I'm MORE than happy to have representatives of both friendly religious sects and supportive political parties...but why are they spending their time filling our Pride Parades, showing us what liberal, gay-friendly people they are, when they could be spending time with their colleagues in their churches and mosques and house and senates and halls, sharing their gay pride THERE, persuading their colleagues about how much things should be changing. I mean. If you REALLY wanted to help, why are you spending so much time preaching to the converted.

And whilst I'm at it, why was there so much enthusiasm for the brands appearing in the parade? I know that lots of people enjoy using Facebook and Google - but reserving the biggest cheers for these groups seemed kinda empty. Maybe I'm just a softie, but the volunteers from the health promotion and human rights charities had fewer representatives, and less impressive banners and balloons. But they are doing something for the community beyond

simply selling us stuff. Judging from the brands in attendance, gay customers are most profitable for banks (Wells Fargo, Bank of America and Chase all had large - and very sparkly - floats), Airlines (Virgin America's float was WAY better than United's....but where were Jet Blue and SouthWest?), Health Insurers and internet brands. And didn't brands used to sponsor a charity, support a cause to get their bit of publicity? We've now got so used to them to commandeering OUR space, that we let them advertise away, without any requirement to DO anything for us.

OK, OK. I know it's a cliche. But Pride marches' stock in trade are hot guys in speedos and hot chicks waving their bare-breasts about. How come we had plenty of the latter, and not much of the former? The closest we got was the Bare Chest Calendar guys...but, as my boyfriend said "they weren't so hot...I couldn't even be bothered to take a photo". So, sorry bare-chest guys, but we have been given such high expectations! I may contradict myself on the point about commercial brands in the parade, but of all those underwear brands (2Xist, Aussiebum, Calvin Klein, even Nasty Pig) not one could find time in their schedules to reward some of their dedicated customers with some tottie-on-a-truck...?

And I guess the fact that I'm lamenting the lack of my kinda eye candy begs the question: who IS the target audience for Gay Pride? Is it 'By Us, For Us'? Or is it about providing a shop-front for what the gay community has to offer the wider world? My experience is that it falls down on both of those. It's too niche-gay for the wider community, but too dumbed-down, too diluted and commercial to be an authentic celebration of what WE have to be celebrate about about being gay.

So. It seems sad to say it, but at 41 years old, I think it's time that SF Gay Pride hung-up it's rainbow and retired to the 'burbs.

Milk, Riots, Doves and Hawks

As a newcomer to San Francisco (and also someone who has a protestant work ethic when it comes to being a tourist), a visit to the GLBT Museum in the Castro was on my To Do list.

And the timing seemed perfect. That Sunday was Harvey Milk Day, a state-sanctioned holiday to mark the birthday of Harvey Milk, the first openly-gay elected politician in California, who was assassinated in November 1978. Although I knew of him, like many, I only really understood his role in the politics of gay liberation through the 2008 film, starring Sean Penn.

Harvey Milk is inextricably linked with the Castro - a place where he lived and worked, his political powerbase (so much so, they called him The Mayor of Castro) and his legacy. Like many gay men in their 30s, I don’t have any recollection of the historic context for the life of Harvey Milk. The gay rights movements flowered in cities like New York, London and San Francisco in the 70s, but I grew-up in the 80s - a child of the AIDS generation - when being gay was more linked to tombstones and Clause 28 than free love and liberation. So, I have a fascination with what it must have like - the fact that the social mores and behavioural norms were so different; the palpable sense of change that (I imagine) must have been in the air.

I'm also intrigued by the sense of community and drive, the optimism and possibility that seems intoxicating in these jaded and cynical times of ours. It was clear that significant number of people within this 'movement' were giving-up the prospect of a ‘normal life’ to fight for their cause. There was a sense of life & death importance around the issues that they were dealing with - people were harassed, in danger of losing their livelihoods, subjected to widespread verbal and physical abuse, often estranged from their families...

To me, in my comfortable 21st Century gay life, it often feels like the war is over. I guess like many of the ‘struggles’ for equality, we’ve reached a glass ceiling. We’ve reached a comfortable plateau.

That’s why it was interesting to learn of another anniversary: last Saturday was the 32nd anniversary of the White Night Riots. Lots of people know about the seminal influence of the Stonewall Riots - 10 years earlier - that signified the start of a concerted gay rights movement. But I had not heard about the White Night Riots, where thousands protested the verdict on Harvey Milk’s killer (voluntary manslaughter - the most lenient conviction possible)

One thing that I find so interesting about these events is that they were unplanned and sponteous - and resulted from a flash of anger, an explosion of outrage. What made this seem so powerful was that it was such an awakening. A rising anger amongst a community that had fought and won their first victory, they had seen the power in their hands.

And then had it taken from them. Their democratically elected leader had been assassinated. And the establishment had seemingly closed ranks and allowed his killer to get away with murder.

And so there was a riot. It started as a peaceful demonstration, but the frustration and rage couldn’t be contained, and ended in damage to property and injuries to both protesters and police.

Here’s the rub. When the media interviewed leaders in the gay community over the following hours and days, they couldn’t find a single one - not one - who would apologize for what had happened. Now, by no means am I condoning violence as a tool for political campaigning. My starting point and credo about conflict resolution is always that non-violence should be the way. I guess that’s why I’m so intrigued by this instance of the gay community benefitting from an unapologetic outpouring of violence and aggression. And that seems so, well, "un-gay".

In the history of gay politics the White Night Riots were a turning point. To quote Wikipedia again: “This led to increased political power in the gay community, which culminated in the election of Mayor Dianne Feinstein to a full term, the following November. In response to a campaign promise, Feinstein appointed a pro-gay Chief of Police, which increased recruitment of gays in the police force and eased tensions.”

So, I’m kinda forced to admit - maybe I should take a leaf out of the American history book, put away my dovish tendencies, and get both angry and get recruiting?

Link to post on: So, what gets me angry these days?

In the Land of the Free, shouldn't we campaigning to promote our way of life in other countries? If America can use interventionist policies to protect its national interests abroad,

shouldn't the United States of Gays do the same? Why shouldn't we be using our hard-earned Pink Pounds (for the Brits) or (even more cheesy) our Dorothy Dollars to secure rights for our brethren in other territories? Look at the way the Mormons intervened in the Prop 8 argument in California. And US evangelicals are exporting anti-gay rhetoric to Africa. Well, shouldn't the gay rights lobby be doing the same?

Is it time for the Gay Hawk?

Angry, middle-aged and gay

So, what gets me angry these days?

Well, for one, our “I’m alright, Jack” mentality. It means that we don’t look outside our own day-to-day lives, that we forget that “there but for the grace of god, go I” and it makes me mad. Living here in gay nirvana in San Francisco, it’s so easy to get trapped in that bubble - but we have a responsibility to see beyond the end of our own - erm - noses, and have a view on what's happening beyond The Castro or further afield than Old Compton Street.

I mean, you just have to take a cursory glance at the online news feeds to know that being GLBT in many parts of the former communist bloc (look at what's happening in Russia or Poland) or almost anywhere in Africa (such as recent developments in Cameroon or Uganda, where governments are actively and aggressively persecuting gays) or countries with governments based on fundamentalist religion (sharia law, anyone? Iran shows us the way!)..... and yet how much pressure are we GAYS putting on these countries to protect these minorities?

And, then I guess, the second thing that really gets my goat is the sense of complacency that goes hand-in-hand with those geographic blinkers.

We still need to fight
Looking into our own backyards, and it's clear that the battle has not yet been won. And the rights that we have fought for CAN be taken away. There are people in power in the US who want to take away the rights that LGBT people have fought for decades to secure. Just a couple of examples:

1. The Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) aims to enshrine discrimination against same-sex couples by actively excluding them from federal benefits that ‘traditional marriage’ allows. The Obama administration has announced it's dropping its defense of the discriminatory Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) in court. Republicans have moved to defend the anti-gay act.
2. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell when repealed last year - a historic end to the discrimination against gays serving in the military. (The first legal challenge was in 1975, by Leonard Matlovich, who’s tombstone is marked not with his name, but with the words: “When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one”) But there are attempts to delay implementation of the repeal, and to reverse this decision

Things can go backwards

And then further afield there are salutary lessons for us in what can happen - look at Kabul in Afghanistan. Last year, Liam Fox (UK Defence Sec) got into hot water for calling Afghanistan a “broken, 13th century country”.

But, it wasn’t always like that. Afghanistan was developing into a modern and cosmopolitan state in the 1960s. It was the first Asian country to have women in parliament, and had already dropped laws requiring women to wear the burka. Afghan women pursued careers in medicine; men and women mingled casually at movie theatres and university campuses in Kabul. In the 60s and early 70s, Kabul was famed as an exotic stop-off point on the hippy trail between Europe and India. It even had M&S! The first Marks & Spencer store in Central Asia was built in the mid-60s in Kabul. But those rights (including, obviously, the right to M&S knickers) were rolled-back following the Saur Revolution and subsequent Russian invasion. And now we’re back to burkas, segregation, male-only education, sharia law, stonings...

Some things are getting worse not getting better.

Kids who are growing-up gay are experiencing an increasingly aggressive anti-gay environment in school. Increasing levels of visibility, means that we’re bringing homophobes out of the woodwork.

So, what’s a thinking gay to do?

Make the personal political

• Join a campaigning group like HRC or Stonewall
• Write a letter
• Get out on the streets

Make the political personal

• Stand-up and be counted. As Andrew Sullivan says, the power of our lobby is that we are everywhere. In every country, in every family. Being ‘out’ is a radical step
• Challenge bigots to re-think. (I just love the excuse to repost this - but it works)
• BE ANGRY. And talk about it!

In praise of the girly-boy

There's been a lot of coverage in the media recently about girly boys. So, what is it about childhood gender identity that challenges us so much? Why are we so sissiphobic?

Things seemed to kick-off at the end of last year, when blogger Nerdy Apple Bottom wrote about her 5-year old son's decision to go to a Halloween Party dressed as Daphne from Scooby-Do, and her anger at the reaction of her fellow moms.

Then, we had a J-Crew ad that showed their head designer painting her son's toenails pink, which sparked a flurry of coverage, lead by FoxNews, around

what constitutes “good parenting”, with the inference that painting your son’s toenails pink was a clear example of “bad parenting”, backed-up with expert testimony that this was a surefire way to cause lasting damage to the boy.

And then we had a story of Malaysian authorities creating specialist camps to rid schoolboys of effeminate behaviour, which - interestingly - seemed to garner almost universal condemnation, and a general sense that this just goes to prove how crazy and foreign those South-East Asians are, what with their prohibition of chewing gum and their predilection for caning poor American graffiti taggers.

The lesson from this: criticism/condemnation/character assassination are acceptable ways to ensure that people conform to gender stereotypes - but overt physical coercion is not. Good to know...

I’ve been thinking about these cases quite a lot. And reflecting on my own childhood. It may be a sample of one, but if my experience is in any way representative, then young kids are pretty

blasé about about what they like. Preference is an early part of what forms personality. I mean, when I was a toddler, I took a shine to a doll (gasp!) at a garage sale (apparently, when you pulled the cord, it made a growling sound - and I thought it sounded like a tiger. Go figure.) - my parents were pretty cool with my selection. But, like most toys, it quickly fell from favour.

Now for FoxNews, that might be the smoking gun for my suspect orientation - but my read of the impact is that it made not a jot of difference.

But, a little later in life, what really made the difference to me and the way that I felt that I should behave (and the toys that I should like), was the impact of peer pressure.

Conformity is such a powerful force, most of us girly boys are brought into line well before we need to be sent to Butch Camp. And by the time I went to school, it was clear to me that dolls were not acceptable toys for boys.

Another piece of anecdotal evidence. When I was in my first year of school, my first best friend was a boy called Adam. We were in the same class. We hung out in the playground. We played 45-and-out with the big boys. And the big girls giggled at us, and tried to coerce us into games of kiss-chase. But, one day, with a mixture of bemusement and exhilaration, we witnessed the impact it had when one of us caught the other in a game of kiss-chase. I don’t think either of us had any idea why it might provoke such a reaction - and so neither of us objected when asked to repeat that act for the benefit of the assembled onlookers. But, boy, did it create a stir. Nobody really explained to us what was wrong about it. Apart from the fact that it was very wrong. So, we didn’t do it again.

Thinking back on this, I had a flash of realisation - I could try and track-down Adam, and see if this early counter-conformist expression was an indicator of a lifelong ‘suspect orientation’. Test the FoxNews’ child-rearing expert’s assertion that permitting early expressions of gender transgressive behaviour can lead to - ahem - ‘confusion’ in later life.

Now, I know there’s a dangerous assumption here - but the fact that Adam is now married, a champion downhill skier and a Major in the Army (having seen active service in Iraq) - makes me think that he’s probably not a sissyboy. As for his orientation, we can only surmise.

So, the straight boys of the world can breathe a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that I cannot convert them with the beguiling power of my soft lips.

So. I was still mulling some of this over when I read another article on instilling gender roles when raising kids. Coverage has been building on the Canadian couple who have decided to raise their newborn baby without gender. (Although this doesn't seem to be the first recorded incidence. A Swedish couple did the same thing in 2009)

Now, I don't make a habit of commenting on the way parents bring-up their kids (but - hey - they were the ones who did the media interviews...), but I applaud their decision to encourage their eldest two kids (boys, by the way) to express themselves freely, without concern for what is considered traditionally boyish appearance or behaviour. But I have to say I don't agree with their decision on how to raise their youngest. By keeping this child’s

gender a secret, these parents aren’t challenging the stereotypes that constrain us, that say ‘Boys can’t be caring and nurturing!', 'Girls can’t be tough and strong and aggressive!’ All that these parents are doing is retreating from the issue, rather than challenging it. I also don't think that they are giving the child 'freedom to choose'. After all, the child's sex is pretty definite. Its gender expression may be more commutable.

In my experience, our restricted sense of what masculine and feminine identities are, means that those who sit somewhat outside those parameters are subject to the full-force of society’s opprobrium.

And for scaredy-cats like me, who no longer play with dolls, pick flowers from the garden to make home-made rosewater, or experiment with painting their fingernails (all of which I was guilty of, until I realised that I wasn't supposed to do things like that), I owe a debt of gratitude to the brazen and unbroken gender-benders, the girly-guys on the front-line, who continue to push the boundaries by just walking down the street. Although I may not be cheering, inside my regulation issue t-shirt and jeans, I’m bursting with pride for you....

Rainbow ground zero

San Francisco is one of those places that it lives in the mind - almost independently of the worldly reality of the actual place.

Even prior to coming here for the first time in 2001, I had a strong concept of how the place should feel. Looking back to that first visit, what I expected was pure distilled 1970s: OK, so maybe not totally hippies in flares, smoking weed and holding-hands whilst skipping though the park...but not far off it. I envisioned sun glinting off the Golden Gate Bridge, all bathed in that dappled light and innocence of childhood photographs. And GAYS. Lots and lots of ‘em.

And - of course - I wanted it to feel like “coming home”. Even in rural mid-Wales, the lure of the Castro was there, tantalising my 16-year old fantasies with images of carefree acceptance and easy access to Hot Guys. I was already sold.

So, my first visit in 2001 was a reality check. Yes - it did feel like a pilgrimage to the Mecca of gaydom. But, like many pilgrims, I wasn’t able to overlook the tawdry commercialisation of the sacred relics. (So, in Lourdes it’s lurid plastic Virgin Maries to take home your souvenir Holy Water. In the Castro, it was Rainbow-coloured, erection-shaped candles to put on the mantel and genuflect to)

And - yes - it did feel like the centre of the known gay world...but there was an 'end of the empire' faded-grandure. A sense that it was living on its past glories.

Well before 2001, Gay™ had already successfully launched franchise operations in most sizeable European cities, so walking into a bar in the Castro felt as familiar as walking into a McDonalds in any UK city. Same decor, same items on the menu, and same initial excitement, quickly receding to leave behind greasy fingers, a slightly salty aftertaste and a vague sense of disappointment.

And, rather than the freewheeling, carefree and radical. It felt - well - rather comfortable and suburban. A combination of the ravages of the AIDS epidemic and the dot.com boom-fuelled property bubble must have kept the Castro accessible only to those already well-established, and those just passing through. So, it was lovely to sit on the bench outside Peet’s on Market and watch those handsome, chiselled men in their 40s stroll past with their dogs, and shoot the breeze with the other handsome, chiselled men in their 40s. But for an unassuming Brit in his 20s, it didn’t feel like my kind of place at all. So, I left it there, and flew on to Sydney, and another first visit to a place I never expected to - very much later - call home.

So, I’m two weeks into a very different visit to San Francisco. I’d been back to the city (I think) five times since my first visit in 2001. It’s certainly still an incredibly beautiful place, with the hills and the water, that special light, and a feeling of expectation. The glimpses of views behind the painted facades of the Victorian houses are still tantalising, and the Golden Gate Bridge still impresses.

And I’ve changed. The beard and the beer-gut help to ingratiate. And I’m certainly less green that I was on that first trip in 2001. Still haven’t bought any rainbow dick candles. But, yesterday I did go to the GLBT History Museum, and pay my respects to the most significant relic on display: Mary-Ann Singleton’s outfit from Tales of the City.

Now, where are those baby wipes?

Assembly-line friendships

OK. So, what did my time with 'BB' teach me? (*Apart* from how to dodge a nifty right hook. But that's a whole other story).

We met in the fag fug of Horsemeat Disco, when I was blearily exiting a previous relationship, and had been looking for nothing more than a bit of fun. A fuzzy frolic by the pool table, led to coffees and (oh how noughties gay London) further dates - workout dates - at Soho Gym in Waterloo.

It soon became clear that 'BB' was driven by a number of things...but, actually, most of them pretty straight-forward. The categeries of Top Trumps that he was particularly interested in?

• Muscle (and it was about SIZE)
• Furriness
• Masculinity

But basically, what he was looking for was strokes. The 'warm fuzzies' that he got when a guy who ticked all the attractiveness boxes gave him a little bit of attention. And it was that most powerful of motivators - insecurity - that gave him his drive.

Now, us gays are generally pretty fluent in the language of attraction and the dynamics of desire. And we have diversified our relationship structures to accommodate them... So, for many in the 'straight world', non-traditional and non-monogamous relationships may seem worthy of a 'behind-closed-doors-exposé', but I've been living the intricacies of friends in 'trouples', and navigating my way around the politics and politeness of couples with open relationships since I came onto the scene.

Now it's pretty clear what's going-on within these relationships - it's real-world and real-time and plain to see. But with the rise (and rise) of online social networking, what happens to monogamous couples when the online networking seems to move beyond 'social' and into 'sexual' territory?

With 'BB' I knew the offline stuff that happened. He had a broad circle of friends, and loved to be chummy with the hottest guys on the scene. He got a lot of strokes that way. But it was something that I knew about, and didn't feel threatened by.

But when 10 or 15 hot new 'friends' appeared on his Facebook profile every day (and each profile picture was a variation on the theme of - you guessed it - muscled, hairy torso), then I started to wonder what was going-on. What was he getting from these guys? And how did it reflect on our relationship?

My conclusion is that social (and sexual) networking on the internet allows us to do assembly-line friendships.

Stick with me here. Prior to the industrial revolution, production of goods was by artisans or craftsmen. Basically, if you wanted some shoes, you went to a cobbler, and they made the shoes themselves, for you, from the basic components. With the rise of Taylorist management science, and the advent of mass-manufacturing processes (as pioneered by Henry Ford) manufacturing tasks were broken down into smaller and smaller components, and labour became very specialist. So, with our cobbler example, there would now be one person who's only job (and only skill) was to cut the leather upper for the shoe, someone else to punch the eyelets, and yet another to stitch the sole.

Are we doing the same with our friends? Are we breaking-down the craftsmanlike nature of what it takes to be a 'fully-qualified' friend or lover, to develop a set of specialist 'friends' whose role is to provide different elements of our relationship needs?

It became clear to me that 'BB' was using the internet to flirt. Pure & simple. He was using those hot, hairy torsos to give him a regular drip feed of validation. And that was a drug. Why stick with the real compliments and caresses of one lover, when you can access the strokes from a thousand virtual ones....even if that's all that they give you. It's intoxicating.

But where do the rest of us go from here?

How does it affect the quality of our relationships, if - like assembling a Ford Model T - we are going to one set of friends for flirting, another set of friends for sex, another set of friends for emotional intimacy, and another set of friends for domesticity?

I don't have an answer. But my heart tells me that having so many different identities isn't healthy for the soul. I think I aspire to being a Master Craftsman of Friendship.