During my time in Manchester, I got to know a guy. Let’s call him Peter. Now, Peter was a gay guy who pretended to be bisexual, thinking that it would help him attract straight and other bi men (which, by the way, is a fairly common tactic in the gay community). We met on a well-known online site, probably three times. Each time, he would enter my flat, we’d do the deed, and then he’d leave. I didn’t even know what he looked like, but one thing was for sure—he was a damn good top.
On our third meet, he asked me to show my face (picture a darkroom vibe—anonymous and all that). Reluctantly, I did, and I was shocked by what I saw—in a good way. Here was this alpha male with muscles, a cheeky boyish face, stubble, a great body, and that straight-acting demeanor, staring back at me. We swapped numbers, and about a week later, we went out for a drink. We had a good laugh, but I was a bit skeptical about where this was heading, considering how we met. Still, I kept an open mind.
It didn’t take long before I found myself on a three-day bender with Peter, during which T and G were heavily consumed. But there was a dark side to him that I didn’t like. He started making subtle suggestions about rape while under the influence of GHB. I was stunned—couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But as the addiction took hold, this kind of talk became disturbingly normal.
