Changing Speed

CHAPTER TEN: THE UNEXPECTED

Perhaps one of the most common (and most accurate) criticisms levied at my feet is that I can be somewhat naïve. I have often found naivety to have its advantages.

I was invited out recently by my oldest son and some of his male friends. I appreciate that I tend to buy the drinks and my son, who doesn't like alcohol, drives my car because more of his friends can fit in my car than in his and then there is the consideration that a parent's car tends to run on goodwill and not fuel, but still I cannot understand my popularity with the boys. Naivety can have its advantages.

So there we all were, a Wednesday evening sat in the pub listening to what they loosely call 'The Acoustic Night'. This is that night where those light on talent come to plug their guitars into an amplifier and proceed to sing into microphones. The popularity of such events never ceases to amaze me.

There was a man sat alone at the next table to us. I noticed him smiling at our conversations and I asked him if he would care to join us. As he moved across the boys turned away and carried on with their own conversations, declining to acknowledge him. Within a few minutes he had emptied his glass and politely asked if he could buy anybody a drink.

Again the boys declined to acknowledge him. He got up and went to the bar to buy just the two of us a drink.

I took this opportunity to express my disdain at the young men's ignorance. Laughter suddenly became stifled, almost, as they listened to my son attempting to explain their behaviour. Without any foundation that I could tell, they were of the opinion that this man was a homosexual and they also believed that he too thought I was of the same inclination. In my most mature manner possible I told them that even if this man was a homosexual, and there was no reason whatsoever to think that he was, this was no excuse for them being so rude. They could sense that I was disgusted with their tactless stupidity which could only be causing this person to be uneasy.

The man returned with our drinks. As I said my thanks he looked directly into my eyes, leaned forward to make the gap between our faces uncomfortably close and told me that it was entirely his pleasure as he stroked my hand. I swear that in the short time he had been at the bar he had somehow had a personality transplant. I tried to continue with my mature approach but it was made all the more difficult by my son and his friends who had long since ceased their attempts to stifle their laughter. It was now clear that they were not laughing at this man's sexuality. This was obviously not as uncommon to them as it was to me. Most of all they were enjoying my naivety.

I'd had a friend who was part of my earliest memories. We were the same age to within a few weeks or so. Even though our lives throughout puberty had gone in different directions we had remained good friends. He chose to announce at our eighteenth birthday celebration with just the two of us present that he was gay. The thing I recall most about his announcement was not admiration for his bravery at telling me that he was gay or anything else that might have been considered logical but that I actually felt offended. He found my explanation as to why I felt offended very amusing. He had never made a pass at me. It was shortly after this that he relocated to London and we lost contact. I expect he would have also found some of my more recent experiences amusing.

I was receiving and responding to messages from somebody who lived fairly local. The contents of our messages suggested that we had much in common. It transpired that we had much more in common than I could have anticipated. I was learning, slowly, but nonetheless I was learning. I had not seen a photograph of my correspondent. I asked for a photograph. He actually seemed more surprised than I was when I explained that I was not looking to get involved in such a relationship. There was another man who wanted to play with my hair. It was a frightening thought considering the amount of hair I have left on my head.

I travelled twenty miles down the motorway to meet an interesting lady who was originally from Poland though had lived in this country for a number of years. As we sat on opposite sides of the beer table enjoying a drink and a few pleasantries I noticed that she was wearing a ring on her wedding finger. I have never claimed to be the most moralistic type of person but I have never knowingly two-timed a lady and would never accept somebody doing the same to me. I had had one such experience and been compelled to live through the pain that that had caused. Without any hesitation I asked her to tell me about the ring. Her response was both fascinating and very sad.

She was indeed still married. I began to say my good-bye but she asked me to hear what she had to say. I agreed. She and her partner still lived together as friends with their two children. Her partner was an excellent mother to their children and this lady saw no reason to break up the family. She continued with her story for some minutes before it occurred to me that she had referred to her partner as being the mother. She used the word transsexual. I took that to mean her husband took pleasure from dressing in women's clothes. As she smiled tears were in her eyes and she explained to me the difference between transsexual and transvestite. It was she that was transsexual, not her partner. She was once a man but was now a woman. She was looking for a person to share her life with, a very special person. I was not that special.

All this had made me ask myself: If gay men understand how other gay men think and gay women understand how other gay women think, and if heterosexual women understand how gay men, gay women and heterosexual men think, then is it only heterosexual men that don't understand women? Or is it just me?

So far my ego still needed inflating and my self- esteem still required a helping hand but at least this internet thing was teaching me that I had a lot to learn. I gave the internet a rest for a while after this.