A gay indie boy living in suburban South West London recounts his trials and tribulations dealing with sex, sexuality, growing up and getting older

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Waltzing into old friends...

I was knackered all day today. All day. I couldn't wait to get home and just go to bed... Perhaps even sleep through till tomorrow morning. But then picking up The London Paper, I turned to the horoscope section to see what pearls of wisdom it could give me about my evening.

"Something has changed that's really sticking with you"

Well, true. Since I turned 25 I just can't shake this 'old' thing. I went out to a club recently and 'Common People' by Pulp came on. Little did I know that everyone had shuffled off the dancefloor and left me dancing like a loon because no-one knew it. That made me feel pretty ancient.

"Why don't you try making a change to counteract it?"

Okay... Well, I guess I've been interested in taking up ballet (no sniggers at the back please) and contemporary dance. Why not conquer my fears about being the only boy and just go?

So off I travelled to our local dance centre and went to the ballet class. After 'changement' and 'fondue'-ing (yes, it really is a ballet term), I was kind of glad I went and that I was making a healthy change to my lifestyle. That was £5 not spent on alcohol or junk food, it was spent on learning something and exercising.

"I didn't know you took ballet here"

I whipped around to see someone I had slept with. He was the teacher of the next class; ballroom.

"Stay," he said

"No." I groaned

"Stay, come on! we need more boys!"

I said no many, many times, but some girl came up to me and said, "It's really good fun and great exercise. And you have the right shoes for it."

I looked down at my black leather shoes I had just changed into.

"Okay... I'll stay"

And then we were taught the Viennese Waltz. I was hopeless. I never was good at either competitive sports or playing with other children, so ballroom just made me enter that severe pit of loathing you feel when you're picked last for sports at school. What's even worse is that I was fucking up in front of this guy who I had been romantically involved with (albeit for one night) and I could just feel him judging me. Or maybe I was just judging myself too harshly. On top of this, I was tired, and I'd already done an hour of fucking ballet, and here I was waltzing round the room.

I just wanted to burst into tears. Next time I see the person who writes The London Paper's horoscopes, I'll make sure that this Gemini crosses into their health chart and does some serious damage.