Life in the small town

If any of you have ever travelled to/lived in/been banished to (delete as appropriate) a small town in the Highlands you may know that they are, most definitely, not a gay Mecca. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live; it’s a beautiful part of the world, but sadly it’s an area of the world that gay forgot. One furtive look on Grindr firmly crushes any doubts you may have had about that statement. This is, for me, life.

I know what you’re thinking: “Grindr in your first paragraph – really?” Well, that’s dating at the moment. And I assure you I use the term “dating” very loosely. Is it possibly to have a first date in a chat room? And does that mean when you pop round and “do-the-deed” it was technically on your second date therefore you are not, in any way, a total tramp? Yes, you say? Good. Because that is how it’s going at the moment. 

Only last week I decided to open that little, yellow demon and see what new hell I could unleash upon myself when I was surprised to find a man who was both interesting and entertaining. Not a combination that comes around too often up here. I ended up chatting with him for a good hour or so only to find myself in the next hour on my back in his bed with my legs akimbo. Once again ladies and gentlemen, I give you dating in the Highlands (according to me).

Let me be clear, I’ve not always been terrible at this because I’ve not always lived in homosexual solitary confinement. I’ve moved to deepest, darkest Scotland from Glasgow where I was a very small fish in a pretty big pond. I had good boyfriends; I had bad boyfriends; I had brilliant dates; I had atrocious dates; I was able to decide to go out to a bar or club where I knew 99.9% of the people inside were of the homosexual persuasion. I met guys, bought drinks for nice guys, went to dinner with even nicer guys, and I’m sure you can see where that would lead to.

Now that I’ve left that big pond however, I’m a whale in a bathtub. I can no longer look at the man on the meat counter in Tesco because I know what his penis looks like from the all-too-graphic photo he sent me; and meeting a certain family friend is a cringe-worthy affair now that I know he has bisexual tendencies and wanted me to “taste his love”. 

I can say, with 100% certainty, I miss that feeling at the end of a great date when you’re just about to part ways and you have butterflies because you don’t know how to end it: a handshake, a hug, a peck or a full on kiss. Just now the only butterflies I get are when I’m worried something phallic is going to appear when I open a message on Grindr (other “dating apps” are available). 

So I’ve decided to get back on that dating horse again, but for that to happen this bathtub needs to become an ocean. Believe me, I am working on it, but any help would be greatly appreciated. I promise.


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