Kink

Wednesday night, the boys and I, all suited and booted, descended on the No. 11 Hotel in Chelsea for an Italian jeweller's very small, but very opulent, launch event. Inside the tight Parisian hall of mirrors and gold leafed accents, fabulous and overdressed women mingled with the gay crème de la phlegm (flu season was clearly also making its debut along with ruby encrusted rings). Pointless conversations were only interrupted by the clink of Prosecco flutes and the snap of an oversized camera. Needless to say, after a day of labour this was a welcome treat.

Our entourage included Juan. Juan was an acquaintance, and we got along well when we met. As we all stood and chattered in a group, the conversation devolved (as it often does) into weekend partying. First it started as a joke, we were eyeing a certain over-pretentious Mr X and joked about how he would handle himself at the Hoist or XXL (as is probably obvious through the names, both these London establishments, and particularly the Hoist, are known for their over-the-top, out-of-this-world fetish indulgence). I decided to share a story, for better or for worse, of when I needed to use the bathroom at the Hoist and the only urinal available was in fact a small man of Asian descent on his knees with his mouth open and eyes rolling with ecstacy. Having been already 3 vodka-on-the-rocks into my evening, I wasn't going to pass up the release, and if he got a kick out of it then what the hell, right?

Juan looked it me with gaping eyes. "But...you're a lawyer!" I wasn't sure what to make of that. He explained: "You look so innocent and young, I am so surprised...". Even though he was married and our relationship was at best superficial (if not cursory), I could see in his eyes a new found...respect! Maybe even a hint of curiosity that was not there before, as if he started thinking of me in a sexual way for the first time.

I was intrigued by this reaction. What is it about gay men, whether it is that Asian guy at the Hoist, or Juan that makes them weak in the face of some kinkiness? Do men have to have an unpredictable, almost abusive side to them for them to get attention? It's a social experiment that's proved itself time and time again. I, in my customary shirt and tie and unabashed preppiness, time and time again find that I throw people off guard (and get their attention) by going into bizarre details of my life.

If you, like me, believe that our relationships with our fathers in many ways influence our relationships with our sexual partners in bed, this obsession is a telling sign of...well, something. Maybe kinkiness and fetish in all its forms are mere reflections of a particular facet of a man's relationship with his father. So much to think about. I'll conjure up the spirit of Freud, but in the meantime, bonne weekend!