Someone Asked Me To Tell Them About Me, This Is What I Thought Afterwards
I was at a party the other night when a rather, shall we say, rotund, older gentlemen sidled up to me and said, “So tell me about you?”
He looked like an egg, with a completely bald head and Harry Potter glasses. “Oh, um,” I said. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Oh, come on he said, a nice looking boy like you?”
Well, I have to admit, that I am vain enough for that line to work, quite clearly. Who’d have thought. Quite possibly, I’d smoked enough and drank enough to make me vulnerable to such blatant flattery. “I’m between jobs, at present…”
“Through choice, I assume,” said my new friend.
“Actually, yes,” I said. “Just taking a career break, considering my options.”
“And what options they appear to be too.”
“Tell me about you?” I replied. That’s just what came out of my mouth, in the moment.
“Oh, I’m Harry, Harry de Moo.” We did that awkward handshake thing, that people do in an odd way after they have already met. “I am a semi-retired photographer,” he replied. “But I’d much rather talk about you.” He had that old school queen thing going on, where he kind of tilted his glasses and gave me the once over, over the top of his glasses.
“What would you like to know,” I said deliberately and provocatively taking on his queeny demeanour.
“Everything,” said Harry.
“Everything?” I said.
“Yes.”
Now, I was a little stoned, and a little drunk, just enough to take away my inhibitions just enough. And I like old gay guys, I like all that old school teasing, the flirt. “I’m turning 36 this year…”
“Oh, a good age,” said Harry.
“I take a size 40 collar.” I ran my fingers around my neck.
“I can see that.”
“I jog regularly…”
“I can see that too.”
“I’m between jobs…”
“Yes, you’ve said that already.”
“I’m a natural brunette.” I’m not sure where brunette came from, I am sure I have never said that before.
“Everything matching?” He looked me downwards.
Huh? “Oh, yes, of course,” I said. “All accounted for in the speedo line.” I winced inside, how could I be so… corny?
He mock gushed. “Stop it, you’ll give an old man a…” he smiled. “Turn.” He fanned himself with his open hand.
“I’m single.”
“I am surprised.”
“I used to be… oh, I am, I guess, a lawyer.”
He bought his fingers to his mouth. “Shhh, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
“But, I write now a days.”
“Now you are talking.”
“And I quite like photography.”
“You’re a lovely boy.”
“Hardly a boy.”
“Darling,” he clasped his throat. “At my age, you are a boy.”
“You’re very sweet.” He was sweet. Old queens are a national treasure, I’ve always been taken with them, ever since I burst out of the closet at uni. I’ve always found them fascinating and so often kind. “Besides, you’re not so old.”
“Oh, you are a treasure.”
Was he reading my mind?
“I bet you have the men dropping at your feet?”
“I do alright.”
“Oh, the confidence of the young, I so love that.”
“I guess I am a bit of, what you’d call, a serial monogamous…”
“Really?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. After a fashion. I like having a special guy…”
“One at a time?”
“Something like that,” I said. “Although, I do have my moments.”
Harry laughed.
“It is nice getting to know all of someone.”
“I agree,” said Harry.
He was nice, we chatted for some time.
Harry wants to photograph me. Why not, I thought? I gave him my number, he said he’s going to call. Apparently, I’m going over to his studio for a session.
What else could I have told him.
Oh yes, the law. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Uni was a blast, I never really wanted it to end. And law is quite logical, follow the cases, it all seemed so 1 plus 1 equals 2 at uni.
I got good marks, I am smart. Lots of distinctions. I never cracked it for a HD. I spoke fluent Italian, thanks to a life long friendship with Nick. We needed a best buddy code, Nick already knew Italian, so I kind of learned it by osmosis. Always talking it around Nick. And when his mother heard me speak some, – I ways always keen to show off my Italian chops, despite being told I have a terrible accent all the time – none of the rest of the family were allowed to speak English to me again.
It got me many places in my gap year in Italy after year 12. I was set free in the candy shop and, just coincidently, I was speaking their language too, in more ways than one. A cute Aussie boy, (that accent gets you places) who could actually tell them what he wanted to do to them. Don't think I wasn't popular.
And I can play the piano. Really? It’s a good ice breaker. Blah, blah, blah. Amanda took me when I was 3 years old, it was her way of countering any bad mother suspicions she may have be harbouring. Daniel got the sax, I’m still guessing they are some deep held fantasies of my mother, the piano player and the sax player. And... that... there have been a number of epiphany moments in my life, hearing Amy Whinehouse sing Valarie, the first boy’s pants I got my hand down, the moment I finished uni, being sat in front of the piano for the first time. It was not that I was some virtuoso piano player, but it did become my escape, my meditation, my break from the world, the thing I did when I wanted some down time. I loved it, it was easy. So I just naturally kept playing for my entire life. School. Uni, playing for friends. I’ve played in a few concerts, so there for a concert pianist.
I water ski. I sing.
You hire you father’s best spin doctor to present those facts in the best possible light.
So all of that looked pretty good, and I got a job with a tier one law firm straight out of uni.
Life up until that point was a breeze. Tra la la, everything is good here.
He looked like an egg, with a completely bald head and Harry Potter glasses. “Oh, um,” I said. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Oh, come on he said, a nice looking boy like you?”
Well, I have to admit, that I am vain enough for that line to work, quite clearly. Who’d have thought. Quite possibly, I’d smoked enough and drank enough to make me vulnerable to such blatant flattery. “I’m between jobs, at present…”
“Through choice, I assume,” said my new friend.
“Actually, yes,” I said. “Just taking a career break, considering my options.”
“And what options they appear to be too.”
“Tell me about you?” I replied. That’s just what came out of my mouth, in the moment.
“Oh, I’m Harry, Harry de Moo.” We did that awkward handshake thing, that people do in an odd way after they have already met. “I am a semi-retired photographer,” he replied. “But I’d much rather talk about you.” He had that old school queen thing going on, where he kind of tilted his glasses and gave me the once over, over the top of his glasses.
“What would you like to know,” I said deliberately and provocatively taking on his queeny demeanour.
“Everything,” said Harry.
“Everything?” I said.
“Yes.”
Now, I was a little stoned, and a little drunk, just enough to take away my inhibitions just enough. And I like old gay guys, I like all that old school teasing, the flirt. “I’m turning 36 this year…”
“Oh, a good age,” said Harry.
“I take a size 40 collar.” I ran my fingers around my neck.
“I can see that.”
“I jog regularly…”
“I can see that too.”
“I’m between jobs…”
“Yes, you’ve said that already.”
“I’m a natural brunette.” I’m not sure where brunette came from, I am sure I have never said that before.
“Everything matching?” He looked me downwards.
Huh? “Oh, yes, of course,” I said. “All accounted for in the speedo line.” I winced inside, how could I be so… corny?
He mock gushed. “Stop it, you’ll give an old man a…” he smiled. “Turn.” He fanned himself with his open hand.
“I’m single.”
“I am surprised.”
“I used to be… oh, I am, I guess, a lawyer.”
He bought his fingers to his mouth. “Shhh, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
“But, I write now a days.”
“Now you are talking.”
“And I quite like photography.”
“You’re a lovely boy.”
“Hardly a boy.”
“Darling,” he clasped his throat. “At my age, you are a boy.”
“You’re very sweet.” He was sweet. Old queens are a national treasure, I’ve always been taken with them, ever since I burst out of the closet at uni. I’ve always found them fascinating and so often kind. “Besides, you’re not so old.”
“Oh, you are a treasure.”
Was he reading my mind?
“I bet you have the men dropping at your feet?”
“I do alright.”
“Oh, the confidence of the young, I so love that.”
“I guess I am a bit of, what you’d call, a serial monogamous…”
“Really?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. After a fashion. I like having a special guy…”
“One at a time?”
“Something like that,” I said. “Although, I do have my moments.”
Harry laughed.
“It is nice getting to know all of someone.”
“I agree,” said Harry.
He was nice, we chatted for some time.
Harry wants to photograph me. Why not, I thought? I gave him my number, he said he’s going to call. Apparently, I’m going over to his studio for a session.
What else could I have told him.
Oh yes, the law. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Uni was a blast, I never really wanted it to end. And law is quite logical, follow the cases, it all seemed so 1 plus 1 equals 2 at uni.
I got good marks, I am smart. Lots of distinctions. I never cracked it for a HD. I spoke fluent Italian, thanks to a life long friendship with Nick. We needed a best buddy code, Nick already knew Italian, so I kind of learned it by osmosis. Always talking it around Nick. And when his mother heard me speak some, – I ways always keen to show off my Italian chops, despite being told I have a terrible accent all the time – none of the rest of the family were allowed to speak English to me again.
It got me many places in my gap year in Italy after year 12. I was set free in the candy shop and, just coincidently, I was speaking their language too, in more ways than one. A cute Aussie boy, (that accent gets you places) who could actually tell them what he wanted to do to them. Don't think I wasn't popular.
And I can play the piano. Really? It’s a good ice breaker. Blah, blah, blah. Amanda took me when I was 3 years old, it was her way of countering any bad mother suspicions she may have be harbouring. Daniel got the sax, I’m still guessing they are some deep held fantasies of my mother, the piano player and the sax player. And... that... there have been a number of epiphany moments in my life, hearing Amy Whinehouse sing Valarie, the first boy’s pants I got my hand down, the moment I finished uni, being sat in front of the piano for the first time. It was not that I was some virtuoso piano player, but it did become my escape, my meditation, my break from the world, the thing I did when I wanted some down time. I loved it, it was easy. So I just naturally kept playing for my entire life. School. Uni, playing for friends. I’ve played in a few concerts, so there for a concert pianist.
I water ski. I sing.
You hire you father’s best spin doctor to present those facts in the best possible light.
So all of that looked pretty good, and I got a job with a tier one law firm straight out of uni.
Life up until that point was a breeze. Tra la la, everything is good here.
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