“No one ever puts a nice bow on it,” he explains. “Accepting that is why I’m happy.”įor a minute, I feel like I’m speaking to Oprah, or the final boss of total clarity and self-belief. But something keeps nagging at me – surely things must rankle him? “Oh, yeah,” he replies. White on black gay cum inside me skin#Īnd no one gets under my skin like another gay man.” Let’s parse that, I interject. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with women. I can fall out with a woman and quickly make up with them. It doesn’t hit the same when I fall out with gay men, in terms of how I feel about myself.” He notices that I’m intrigued. “My relationship with gay men has always got an edge to it.” Is it a sense of competition? Or envy? “It’s not as simple as that. It’s not like I wanted to sleep with them, but I felt like an outsider to it.” “When I was 21, all my gay friends slept with each other all the time.
In Raven Smith’s Men, there is a brief aside stuffed towards its climax in which Smith admits to always having “this underlying feeling that I’m not pretty, not in a conventional way”.
