Friday, April 23, 2010


While Bombay and Bangalore seem to have woken up to the Gay revolution, Hyderabad seems to be lagging behind. Vinny lists out probable reasons and suggests ways of bridging this divide of acceptance. Who knows hamara Hyderabad might just be on its way to being called GAYdarabad!

Vinny city, Hyderabad, has transformed from a sleepy town to a bustling metropolis in the last few years. Although colourful, this city’s identity with the people of the rainbow community seems to be a hidden secret. Yes, it does have people who are queer, like any other city. However, the city dwellers are ignorant and need to know that we are also part of the city and live among them.

The queer community in Hyderabad has seen a drastic change in the last two decades. It has moved from the confines of a park to the dim lit ambience of a club. It has moved from ‘a one-night-stand attitude’ to ‘come let’s be friends with benefits’ or just friends, otherwise as well. A chai in Charminar might not yet be passé but you now find sprightly lads on Eat Street strutting around.

One of my friends recollects the park days and says that the community was much smaller then because people were mostly not aware of each other’s existence. Also, people who visited the park were those who had heard about it from others who they already knew. Now, with the advent of social networking sites, the presence of the community is gaining visibility. It’s bringing in people from all walks of life to a common place where they can get whatever they seek or desire. Now a days, an Aadab-arz-hai from a stranger in Public Gardens is no longer an innocent greeting for everyone realises the kind of mischief it hints at.

Media and the recent amendment of Section 377 by the Delhi High Court has brought the community into the limelight and the otherwise ignorant city dweller talks about their existence openly. A raucous debate is piercing the hush of silence. Does it really matter to them that we exist? Do they really care about what we do? Will the pattern of reactive behaviour now change?

I love my city and I want my city to have an open culture like Mumbai (Bombay). Mumbai: why do we feel an exuberant freedom when we hear that name? It is the gay capital of our country. One of India’s most crowded cities, Mumbai, gives its people the required space that is hard to find here in conservative Hyderabad. This exuberance and mindset of the people prompts them to proclaim it ‘BomGAY’. My pal from the park days in public gardens recollects a time when there were a few people who formed groups like ‘Saathi’ where gay themed movies were screened in an open theatre. As time went by, they moved on and have left a legacy in the minds of those selected few. I want the queer community in Hyderabad to start something on those lines again. The homosexual undercurrent of the Nawabs’ pining for ‘pubescent boys with slender waists’ tells us that we’ve always been there and done that in Hyderabad.

My city will be truly cosmopolitan when the city knows that we are a part of it. What a city does to its people reflects a city’s culture. Our existence cannot be ignored anymore. More gay people are now negotiating with their families about their Self and their choices, which define their personhood and life. If you are curious about who we are, my word of advice would be to just talk to us with an open mind rather than believing whatever else you might hear. I want my city to know that we are here and we are going to do what we set out to do with your support and extended hand.

The Hyderabadis need time to know and understand about the community, but they also need to break those pre-conceived notions about the community. The traditional gender and sexual roles must be reinterpreted in light of how we understand ourselves. Men can have sex with men. Women can have sex with women. Our essential individuality does not change.

Wakeup Hyderabad, learn about us. If Bombay is known as ‘BomGAY’ and Banglore as ‘BanGAYlore in popular Queer culture, then isn’t it time that Hyderabad comes to be known as ‘GAYdarabad’. Together we can make this city, a more accepting place to live in.

Vinny is seldom successful with the experiments on his hair. At present he is collecting every naya paisa to go bungee jumping over the Hoover Dam on the Colorado.

Monday, February 15, 2010

South Indian Gay me

Gay sexuality and regionalism have never been looked at together like LRomal M Singh tries to. If you are South Indian and love being gay, maybe you’ll agree with him too?

L Romal M Singh

“Panché Katti Kurraallalonee, Panchu Naaku Thelisochindi!” (I’ve come to know that the true ‘punch’ [virility] is in boys who wear the panché [dhoti]), go the lyrics of a very popular Telugu song that’s been my favourite for quite some time now.

Why do I like this song? Why do I want to bite my lower lip in a seductive manner, every time I hum this tune or sing these words? Am I a wannabe mass-song dancer whose dream is yet to be fulfilled or am I a ‘liberated’ woman (as portrayed in these movies), trapped in the body of an unwilling man? Or worse still, do I get so turned on by the idea of being so raw and sensually brazen when it comes to talking about a young man’s virility and his sexual prowess I want to violate every code of conduct?

Lots of thinking, intense speculation, deductions, paraphrasing and debates later, I realize I am none of these colourful people mentioned above – I am just a true, son of the soil South Indian, who loves being brash and really uncouth when it comes to matters of my colourful sexuality.

Do I love singing these songs or what! They are a part of my dosa-bred imagination and believe me when I say, that the most romantic thing I might call a lover is “Tent Kattuh Interval Murukkuh” (Possible Literary Transliteration: Your fried delicious savoury item that is my only accompaniment at a movie watched in a tent!) or even better, I might just ask him to build up his muscles like Suriya (Tamil movie poster boy) and grow a nice Singuh-Meesai (Lion Moustache) to satiate all my fantasies and fulfill his in return.

What is it about raw South Indian sensuality that makes it so damn good? This is possibly a question that will never be answered, but I’m sure you understand what I mean when one sees the scraggly unshaven look of Sendhil Ramamurthy as Suresh in Heroes and imagine far more devious things than what passes through my brain every time I see him. Or when one looks at Allu Arjun in all his porikki finesse, strip down to his bare minimum (Deshamuduru) or dress up to sinful indulgence perfection as he did in Arya 2. If only I could sink my teeth into those biceps, and I know you’re wishing for that too and so much more!

The South Indian man in all his dark perfection is the new sexual symbol. Be it the bulging goodness of John Abraham ( who is Malayali), pun intended or the child-like innocence of the green-eyed Navadeep, South Indian men are the new hot things on the market and they’re selling like hot cakes for good reason.

We’ve been blessed with good looks and geographical features that make South Indians far more interesting looking than several of their plain faced Aryan counterparts. I’d happily have my fill with a Ganesh Venkataraman, a Karan Rao, or a Diganth Manchalé any day, rather than pursue a supposedly more interesting Punjabi or Jat munda with the same skin tone. The choice is much wider down south anyway and the more particular you get, the more you have to choose from.

South Indian boys and men also seem to have the amazing capability to swing from elitist finesse to lose-all-inhibitions-rawness at the drop of the hat. That surely is a talent worth appreciating and it comes so naturally to most of us. Some of them switch so fast, that most people are caught blissfully unaware of this role change and are often left confused and delirious.

Is it still a surprise why my preferences are so biased? It’s almost like I know that I’m getting so much more even though I bargained for so much lesser! Why wouldn’t I be the happy(er) customer, pray tell? Let’s also not forget how hard it actually could be to refuse being attracted to the child-like innocence of a Vijay or the incontrollable manliness of a Vikram! Are you still in doubt?

I hope you aren’t, because it’s time for my daily ritual of worshipping my South Indian demi-gods. I need to concentrate and relish each utterance and movement, for only then will the gods be pleased with my devotedness. If you are as strong a believer as me, then hop onto the bandwagon and the next time you see a fabulous looking South Indian walk by, ensure you let him know you totally adore him. You’ll be earning karma and loads of kama in the bargain. Be assured. Experience speaks. I need to go now, the next pretty thing aka hunk I adore is on TV, my ritual of drooling, lusting and wanting begins, feel free to join me any time. Lines are always open.

L Romal M Singh is insanely obsessed with Telugu, Deccani Urdu, ‘Mass’ songs from popular films and has an abnormally large number of friends in the Hyderabad, who draw him to the banks of the putrefying Hussain Sagar at least once in every two months.

You and I: The poetry with

A celebration of love for another, the heart-warming desire for another body and the discovery of the ‘I’ through the ‘you’. Sometimes love, in its ever-intriguing physical and bodily form, is the most palpable and understandable of feelings.

Andy Silveira

I looked into your eye. I am. Just the way I am. Your eyes looking at me. You are. You are the most beautiful being I’ve seen. I see your eye sty, your blackheads, your acne, your dimple, your stubble, your ear, your eyebrows, your marks, your hair, your skin, your contours, your body. Your glance. You looking back at me, reminding me that I am.

As I look at you, I realize my own opacity. Who am I? Who am I but in relation to you? I am me for you. As I am with you, I am not the same person I was, before I was with you. I am a mystery to myself as much as you are a mystery to me. The more I want to know you and lift your veil of mystery, the more I am aware of our distance.

Who is this life behind this body? The person behind this skin. I look at you with wonder. I experience the beauty of your body. Where are you? Where in your body are you? My arms are wrapped around your body as we sit on the couch. I feel the warmth and the touch of your body against mine. Our touch reminds me that I am on you and you are under me. Yet, where are you? Who are you?

This moment of being with you inebriates me. I feel charged by the grandeur of your body. You overwhelm me and I am blinded by you. I long to be within you and lost in you, so that we are not you and I, but we, where both, you and I, are not two entities, but one. Yet I know that it cannot be, because you are and I am. We are separated by the exterior of our skins, whose impermeability refuses to climax into the fusion of ourselves. We will be distinct, no matter how much we desire to lose ourselves with each other. We are in this moment, where time converges on the now. If only we could be this way, eternity would be a moment. Together we would be lost in the comfort and bliss of each other.

And yet, as we are together, I sense that I am all alone. As I look into your eye, I see you are not here. The feel of your touch seems distant. Probably, you do not feel the same way as I do. Probably, you are in a moment and time so far away from now. And yet, for me, this moment is beautiful. I am thankful that my life was a prelude to this moment, where we are, just this way. You and I.

A late bloomer, Andy, lives, lusts, loves and longs for the early birds!!! His latest conquests have all been the subject of his pretending-to-be-intellectual erotica.

The Pride that Defines Us

Bangalore’s Queer Pride last year seemed perfectly timed as the country immediately started celebrating the decriminalization of Article 377. Danish describes the duality of his ‘freedom’ as he celebrated being Queer at that momentous event.

Danish Sheikh

Exhausted, exhilarated, as I recount my weekend in Bangalore for the Pride March, I recall an incident of a television camera zooming close by as we steadily made our way towards town hall. As it honed in, and I noticed the NDTV 24X7 logo, I clasped on a mask in alarm, compelled by the thought of my parents' horrified faces seeing their pride and glory marching down the road with hundreds of fellow LGBT's (not to forget the ‘straight but not narrow’ folks).

A troubled look came across a friend's face as he questioned, "Well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the pride?"

I think about what he said, as I remember the numerous other people in masks that day, in various degrees of being ‘out-ed’. I have, for the past year, considered myself completely out, save for that final frontier – family. That, I conveniently relegate to the sidelines, consoling myself with the "it's not practical just yet" argument.

So what was the purpose of the pride then?

mull it over tea, and I think about it during an evening stroll. Sure, it's clear enough; it's about celebrating your identity, acknowledging comfort with your sexuality, and letting the world know: we’re here, we’re queer, and we’re not going away. But for a minute, I also think, beyond what it is about, beyond what does ‘I’ mean.

I flash right back to the moment, when our car drove up to the starting point, next to National College in the Basavangudi area of South Bangalore. I think about the rush of excitement as we hopped out, to a riotous blaze of colour. Chuckling at slogans, having my own prominent ‘Closets are for Clothes’ photographed more than once. So many faces, so many people, some familiar, most not, yet all positively radiating with that common shared frenzied energy.

And then as the rainbow flags were unfurled and the drums began to beat and everyone crowded around to hold the flags up, hold them high for everyone to see, I forgot the agenda, I forgot about who I knew and who I didn’t and what this meant.

We were here. We were together in this. We were a community. We were proud.

So then, to you, friend, can you understand why this much is really enough? At least, for now! I surely wish I could ignore my wonderfully convenient ‘practicality’ argument and tell my folks anyway. I surely wish that I’d have the courage to be able to live with them having shared that part of my identity, and be prepared for the consequences. But till that moment comes, I have this. I have the strength of a community, the shared experience of hundreds who were present that day, and of millions across the world, our common tribulations and our shared euphoria, all coming together on that one cherished day.

That, I think, is what pride is all about.

Danish Sheikh is a law student at NALSAR. He enjoys cinema, theatre and applause, when not thinking up ingenious schemes of saving the world.

My Experiment with an Austere Homosexuality

In a colourful and rather detailed repartee to the never ending question of what’s more important, the person or one’s sexuality, Joe debates pre-conceived notions of the community in this brilliant narrative of coming out and accepting one’s self.

Joe Benjamin

After several asphyxiating years in the closet, last year I mustered the courage to come out to the walled, secure universe that is my college. It helped that it’s passé to be right-wing and intolerant in it’s hallowed portals. It was comforting to have feminist Marxists on the faculty. That it is a speck in the hinterland with immunity from separatist demonstrations, swine flu and other forces that conspire towards academic disruption was an encouragement too! There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that folks back home would catch a whiff of what was going on.

My spectacular visions of a dramatic coming out were unkindly reduced to a disappointment by all who mattered. The roommate to whom I first made the startling confession did not wear the expression of one struck by an epiphany. After momentarily looking up from his laptop to offer a blink, he went back to type out his passionately held views on property rights for the Hindu widow in 1937. My ‘girl’ friends were far better sports. There were appropriate declarations of support, squeezing of hands, group hugs and the constant refrain of “a gay man is a girl’s best friend!” Maybe my high expectations are to blame, but the phenomenon still fell short of the feminine hysteria that would’ve topped off the situation deliciously, which makes everyday so much more colourful.So it was out. It trickled and crawled like honey, and within a few weeks, most people knew. In customary social intercourse with that blurry group of people we call ‘acquaintances’, every nod contained an understanding, every smile masked awareness, and there were insidious references to my sexual orientation with an ordinariness that gave it the air of historical fact. I played along. I laughed about it, said that act X was a gay thing, that where I came from, behaviour Y was routine. And that was just the beginning.

My coming out couldn’t have been at a more appropriate time. The college was witnessing a gay boom, and there were people from various batches proclaiming their sexual orientation to the world, like closely spaced out little pops. By some great fortuity, the Bangalore Queer Pride (the closest one to my hometown, excluding Bhubaneshwar of course, where sadly, most of us got to know of the parade only after it was long done and buried in the pages of queer history), coincided with this new rumble, and it was decided that we’d show up with an impressive contingent of the queer brigade, with an equally sizeable number of straight allies. The event was momentous; the march itself was high on chutzpah, and the celebration of togetherness was a visual demonstration of the colours of the rainbow itself. I welled with pride, and the after party was sexy enough for me to embrace my membership in the fraternity with a wholeheartedness I didn’t consider possible.

But when I returned, I was a different man. While the coming out of the pre-Queer Pride times involved private whisperings and smiling acknowledgements, I now took upon myself the mission of barking the fact in high decibels to oblivious souls still in the dark about my homosexuality. I took special care in wearing a smug audacity before the peripheral group of people who liked to publicise their intolerance. You know the sort. They’re typically built like a behemoth, unabashed about their inferior intelligence, and believe that they enjoy impunity by virtue of muscle power. In my mind, of course, I was doing much more — hissing at them and sliming them with sarcasm — but in the interest of self-preservation, I stuck to the wisdom of our forefathers and practised passive resistance. But, not even they could restrain me from being actively political about my sexual orientation. Never the quiet sort, and always a stickler for raucous laughter, loudly expressed irreverent observations et al., I was in my element! Meanwhile, the Sociology-I course taught by our beloved Kalpana Kannabiran was going full throttle, holding all of us enraptured and opening new windows of perspectives on every single realm of life. But my favourite theme, and one on which I can give entire discourses with practised elegance, related to the oppressiveness and hypocrisy of patriarchy and the hollowness of the argument that monogamy is the natural state of being. I drew on this extensively, and in my best pseudo-intellectual garb, gave aloof speeches that not only legitimised, but sexed up my promiscuity to myriad gatherings of all who were willing to listen. I fed my vanity well by rubbing it into all the few girls who thought me a prize catch that I was gay. I may have even added a dash of extra gait and let my hands fly in the air wispily while talking, all with full intention. I was militantly gay.

Months went by. Several men with forgettable names and a couple of months of unspeakable depravity in Delhi later, I was back in college. I was merrily prancing about class and making polite enquiries regarding health and new wardrobe acquisitions when a girl interjected, “Joe is obsessed with being gay!” For a moment I was taken aback, though I’m sure I rebounded with a retort just appropriately uncharitable, without indulging my acerbity.

It set me thinking. Come to think of it. In my staple after-dinner walks on ‘the lane’, the words ‘queer’, ‘gay’, ‘homosexual’ and “he’s so cute!” were heard with far greater frequency than any other words. To the casual observer, I may have appeared to be brandishing a banner with the word ‘gay’ in bold, throw in a tattoo of an underwear model on the forehead. Concerned, I asked my harem of friends. They confirmed the diagnosis. Was my sexual orientation taking over my life?

I can’t describe how deeply this realization disturbed me. I was cheering from the stands when Amartya Sen wrote about the incomprehensiveness and diversity of individual identity. And here I was fomenting a singular homosexual shade to paint myself with. Worse, among my biggest worries when I came out was that people may perceive me in terms of my homosexuality alone, ignoring the great many idiosyncrasies that I possess. And here I was tumbling down the very pitfall I sought to avoid! I was Joe the avid debater, believer in ghosts, the guy who wants Kiera Knightley in his showcase, who likes to read Neruda aloud to himself on rainy days, who hates washing, and is constantly whining about his poverty, and a lot more, who also happens to be gay. Not “Joe the homosexual”. I imagined some elderly relative shedding a tear on my epitaph bearing precisely those words. I shuddered.

The answer was ‘Project Parsimony with Homosexuality’. I would go on a fast for an entire day, without using the words ‘gay’, ‘queer’ or ‘homosexual’. Yes, I could totally do moderation and restraint. I would consciously avoid making references to my sexual orientation. I would concern myself with subjects of infinitely graver consequence. “Who wants to talk about health-care reforms in the USA?” “I certainly think China should head the negotiations for the de-nuclearisation of the Korean peninsula.” “[whisper] Somebody’s been eating a lot this holiday season!”

I tried, I honestly did. And although I managed some modicum of literal success by not using the forbidden words, I couldn’t resist broaching the subject through some verbal manoeuvre. Intriguingly, even when I stayed off everything remotely queer, I was inevitably dragged into talking about it by others. So it wasn’t entirely me, after all!

I wish I had some illuminating philosophy to expound on as the conclusion of my little experiment. But after much reflection and scratching of head, all I could figure was that I haven’t yet ceased to wonder at my new-found power! Every single day comes with an affirmation of how I am different, and on every such moment I am enchanted by how it is possible to be different without being shunned. I am still finding my way through the radically different, unwritten code of the gay world, where much more is permissive, and much more is an adventure! I am tunnelling my life with the joy of an explorer. And it isn’t that my complaining habits have abated by any measure; I still think Kiera Knightley would look ornamental with the rest of the furniture. But my coming out is still endowed with a mystical quality; whether it will dissipate or not is not something upon which I can comment. Perhaps one day it will all become part of the mundane, and my homosexuality may dissolve into the background. But for the moment, I am celebrating it. And others are celebrating it with me. And who can blame me, when for 19 years it’s been suppressed, unarticulated?

And then again, am I merely a part of a larger ferment, the awakened queerness of the post-Naaz Foundation era? Only time will tell. Till then, I am happy to be led by instinct.

Joe is a law student, professedly left-wing with a curious fixation for brands. He is irreverent and single.

Laugh a little louder, Sing a little Prouder

We’re not criminals any more (at least for now). What’s next is the big question that daunts a growing community. Danish reminisces the few joyous moments as India’s homosexuals became officially legal, and ponders about the future of the community.

Danish Sheikh

Don’t you know

They’re talkin’ about a revolution

It sounds like a whisper

Don’t know about that, Tracy.

The 2nd of July, 2009; there wasn’t much whispering on.

How do you react to a day that you’ve dreamt of, that in fact almost by default, became your cause, for all of your adult life? (Even if that adult life has only been merely over two years.)

We declare that Section 377 IPC, insofar it criminalises consensual sexual acts of adults in private, is violative of Articles 21, 14 and 15 of the Constitution.

Looking back at that day, it’s hard to point the best moment. Possibly, the moment I called a lawyer friend and found out. Maybe it was when I got the rapid burst of excited, happy, supportive messages from friends outside college. It could be the bit where the entire class welcomed the news with resounding cheering. Or when the IPR professor congratulated all “affected parties”. There’s a chance that it was when I finally read the judgment, marvelling, laughing in delight at some of the passages, quiet vindication at some of the others. Stories and images of crying, laughing activists-lawyers-supporters-beneficiaries — oh that was another moment!

I sit now, a few days passed, the euphoric rush of the news replaced by the dull throbbing of the gum where my wisdom tooth once lay. The debates on TV are all versions of each other: you know you’re going to see that archdiocese fellow just as well as the lawyer-activist, and they’ll repeat and reiterate their points. Mostly, you’ll laugh, or display indignation at Mr. Archdiocese’s attempt at nuanced comments, much as you’ll cheer on Mr. Lawyer, simultaneously groaning when you feel he could’ve made that last point more firmly. (Summarizing Mr. Archdiocese Sir “Homosexuality cool. Homosexual acts not cool”. Mr. Archdiocese Sir? Abstinence very not cool. I didn’t fight my way to equal sexual orientation status to coyly smile at my partner as he waves a gilded fan over me. And it’s not exactly like you practice what you preach now, is it?)

You might wonder what the big deal is about anyway. You might even scoff and change channels, calling this all a needless waste of television space.

And then, if you’re me, you’ll pause for a moment while typing. Look around the library, humming with activity and then, feel the rushing resolve, as the realization that had dawned a few days back now firmly trickles in — this was just the beginning.

As Buffy and gang would sing

“The battle’s done and we kind of won, so we sound our victory cheer.

Tell me, where do we go from here?”

From here … Maybe there will be an appeal. Maybe not.

There will certainly be more protests, more debates. Protests more violent — as more step out of the closet, as homosexuality ceases to be an invisibilized non-issue. Debate more furious — as the issues, the stakes are raised — as we go on to question the very notion of the Indian family itself.

And all of that boils down to this moment. So I say, thank you, to the first generation of the movement in India for giving it to us.

Onto the next phase now.

Bring it on!

(Written two days after the Naaz Foundation Judgment was delivered by the Delhi High Court.)

Danish Sheikh is basically a boring person, who is fascinating during discussions over cups of coffee and pitchers of alcohol.

Being Me - Part 1

If ever there was a tale of coming out and being gay that Hyderabad ought to know about, we’re sure it’s this one. Pradeep is like any other well-educated young boy from our city who always knew he was different. How he accepted this difference, found love, went abroad and returned home is a saga in the telling. Here’s a story that needs so many tellings that we’ve decided to present them to you as a series…

Ram Pradeep Abireddy

Part 1: Discovering the real me and finding love in the bargain

Ever since I realized my homoerotic self, all I wanted to do was settle down in the west and by west I mean, the United States of America. This prodigious dream was fulfilled on the late evening of Dec 15th, 2006.

I was walking out of the US consulate after having heard that a student visa had been bestowed upon me, and I was flabbergasted like never before. I ran chirping all the way outside to my father, who was so sure I would get it (his confidence surprised me!). The remaining fifteen days before my scheduled departure passed through so fast — with shopping and bidding farewell to all the people who meant so much in my life — that when the day came, I wasn’t even aware of its momentousness.

It was evening on the 31st of that same year, when everyone everywhere (including me) celebrated the beginning of another year, while I celebrated the beginning of something more special — my gay life.

It truly was the beginning of something big for me. After several parties, I arrived home by 11 pm to meet my Mom and Dad and a few friends who were waiting to go to the airport to see me off. I wasn’t sad, not one bit and I didn’t really know why. Maybe it was the relief of putting away all those years of closeted life, being called names and the rest of those problems most gay men face in India. I was actually happy that it was all ending, once and for all!

After twenty three hours of a blissful journey, I was finally at my destination with a student from the university waiting for my arrival. After having greeted each other, we took off towards the university. It was snowing outside, and this was the first time I had seen snow. It was angelic and made all my jitters that I had about the future disappear.

We reached our destination. The university looked stunning covered in snow, and though tired, I didn’t feel like stepping into the dorms. In no time, I was playing in the snow like a kid. It wasn’t until much later that I retired for the day.

In a couple of weeks I found myself getting adapted to the culture and started enjoying every bit of it. I finally had a job on campus that I loved doing and was getting engrossed with school. Yeah, that’s right, they call a graduate college a school!

With whatever money I had left at the end of the month, I went into malls with friends and exhausted my money buying the brands that I always wanted — Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle, D & G, Banana Republic, you name it, I bought it! I was as gay American as gay American can be!

I loved going into the university too, where I could ogle at the voluptuous variety of adolescent men that were available on any given day.

One fine day when I was cruising through the student centre after a tiring class, I ran into a girl distributing flyers to the students. She gave me one. It was multicoloured with words in gold talking about an event being held by the university’s LGBT organization. My heart gasped as soon as I saw the leaflet — this was all I ever wanted and I knew it existed in this university but couldn’t pull up the courage to go and attend one of their meetings.

So I started searching for other ways to be part of the queer crowd, the safest option being, logging onto a social dating website and looking for people I could chat and hang around with. I started chatting with few people who looked appealing but was hesitant to meet them as I still felt like a stranger in a foreign land.

In my quest of finding openly queer people I happened to run into a guy’s profile that I found to be very appealing. He was my Adonis. I wanted to message him but then again, my frail self-confidence caught up with me. I thought he was past my league, but to my surprise, I happened to run into the same person in the library the very next day. I was shocked to say the least, but couldn’t muster up enough courage to tell him who I was and look him in the eye.

The very next day I saw a message from him when I logged into the site and there he was. He said he had seen me around and that his name was Chris. Chris became the object of my dreams and fantasies from that day on…

The Author is a colourful social butterfly who would like to dedicate this story to "TGG"(the Gay Gang) and first chapter to Crayons