Jimmegee's electronic life

jimmegee

Friday, 25 July 2008

With Pride still on the horizon for many of us - like the first warm day of summer (which I don’t think we’ve really had yet, have we?), my mind is filled with many things: what shall I wear, where will we meet up with our friends, who do I need to avoid, what hand gesture will I use to the bigots campaigning along the parade and - most importantly of all - will I feel like taking my top off this year and exposing my man boobs to the masses?

It’s a pivotal question for the larger gay, you know, and one I’ve tussled with for years. Not least because The Doctor is a much more shapely man than me and has been a shirt-off kinda guy since the day we first met on the sweaty dancefloor at Wild Fruit in Brighton. Not wishing to look like a total prude on our first few dates, I gladly exposed my tousle-haired, pale barrel chest too and savoured the practical advantage of moobs-out which is that you do feel a lot cooler when getting down and dirty on the 'floor.

It wasn’t until an obliging lesbian (fully clothed, obviously) pinched an inch or two of my male muffin top while dancing one evening that I suddenly, horribly, became self-conscious about the fact that the “tits" I have were not of the same size, shape or fat content of any other tit on display. So I packed them away for the rest of the evening and for many a winter month to come.

Now we're into summer and the big P is on its way, I feel it’s time to liberate those moobs from the tyranny of the T-shirt and to hell with the odd grabbing lesbian and snooty gym bunny gaze. I’m out, I’m proud, and I’ve got moobs. Get over it. Happy Prides, everyone.