I wasn't depressed - I was actually posing :)

May 17, 2010
Book 1 - Prague, Sin City
Chapter 1 - Gaybriel

How many of you ever thought about what your Wikipedia page would look like?
"[…] born November 8 1982 is a sweet, beautiful guy, hell of a catch" etc etc. 
Early Life section would probably be filled with some boring details about how I grew up in a loving family, playing I show you mine you show me yours with some boy neighbour at my grandparent's when we were five or six.

I would really love to see the Controversies section which would most likely include something along the lines of: He has been frequently heard saying "everything you say can and will be used against you after a couple 'a drinks".
But most importantly, I would give a fortune to have someone summarise and structure the fucked up mess that is … my Personal Life. That would be just awesome!
Ah, and I would constantly log in and delete all the References section

But no Wiki page is better than my own words.

So let me introduce myself: My name is Gabriel; Gay!…briel. Pun probably intended by my parents knowing it will sound just perfect for a hate crime news headline in English…

Speaking of my name, I was working, until recently, for a company where we had daily conference calls with the US. Super serious discussions with all sorts of directors, product managers and generic paper pushers, each with their own kind of stick up their arse. Usually very big. So you know how these go - you dial in, enter the conference number and then you have a second or two to say your name. Man! I have no idea how this was happening but unless I was speaking at 500% speed like a nutcase (open plan office), the system was truncating my name to just "Gay". And then the conference was starting; three continents on the phone. A joyful robotic female voice was announcing: "… Gay … has entered the conference…” And yes, I could hear the giggles and could just imagine the "Wha'?!" faces. Good thing I wasn't saying "A Gabriel" at the start…

I'm 28 years old going on 27 - and that alone should sum me up perfectly. A bit skinny, I have dark brown eyes, medium long hair when my Czech stylist understands the subtle difference between short and shorter, am not too tall not too short, not wearing sunglasses in clubs or any other lady gaga props and I don't paint my nails or powder my nose either. Unlike some of my gay brethren, I don't like boobs but I'm a big fan of the boobs' owners and I support and I'm tolerant towards all the boobs out there. I also keep swearing I’m gonna go to the gym tomorrow since 1997.

I'm not a model but mirrors don’t mysteriously break in pieces when they see me either. In fact, many say I’m quite cute. Personally, I think I’m freakin' cute. I had an epiphany with this a few days ago after this guy chased me around in some club. Felt quite good really to be so wanted. So the next day, all hungover and in slow motion alone in the bathroom I was staring at myself in the mirror. I just stood there without doing anything for a couple of minutes and then I tilted my head sideways and said out loud: "Man, I'm really not ugly!” I just burst out laughing realising what I just said, but hey - a good self-esteem goes a long way. If you don't think you look good how do you expect anybody else to think that as well? Anyway, I'm in no way good to put in a frame or on the front cover of Attitude (even though boy do I have one…), but I do have that je-ne-sais-quoi. I'm guessing my eyes.

Kinda shy at the beginning to the point of silly until I get myself comfortable and unleash my true self. I did stumble while walking in a bar and seeing everybody checking out the fresh meet (that would be me), just because of thinking "Oh God they're looking at me! They're looking at me!" and trying to zone out. Quite a sight... For the more curious, I did that few times walking in Valentino in Prague.

Not at all a first liner. I'd rather have a technical file with me with all my "stats" - age, what I do, where I’m from, if I’m fine or not. If I say something first, you can be sure I carefully planned it a week or two in advance. I guess it boils down to some sort of feeling of redundant chatter mixed with a bit of fear of rejection. Practically, "the subject" has to give me a very clear sign I won't hit the fan at the first sentence or I'll just keep waiting there and look cool.

I'm a "gold star gay" - that is, I have never touched any female's private parts and if I ever saw a fanny pack close to my face I would probably faint. To quote Stephen Fry, "I suppose it all began when I came out of the womb. I looked back up at my mother and thought to myself, 'That's the last time I'm going up one of those.'“ I'm that gay. However, even though I'm not the ideal of raw masculinity, fierce not being by far the best adjective to describe me, and even though my first words as a baby were probably "ma donna" instead of "ma ma", I don't flap my wings when I walk on the street like I’m about to take off. Ok, I do sit with my legs crossed sometimes and I often hold the cigarette with my hand up. That's kinda gay indeed but otherwise, I can infiltrate easily the straight ranks.

I'm in no way proud of it or anything. It just is. It did however help me, I guess, when the aforementioned badass multinational sent me to Malaysia last year… In Malaysia, oral sex - gay or straight alike - is considered "carnal intercourse against the order of nature" and "committing" it, grants you a free ticket to 20 years jail tour. And whipping. Also they presumably don't have any gays in the country at liberty. I completely freaked out when I learned that from a local newspaper, fearing to even search on Google "oral sex Malaysia" thinking I’m gonna hear helicopters soon, but I was already there and no way to get out for two weeks. Other than that, Malaysia was great. The company put me in a 5 star hotel in the middle of a jungle near Kuala Lumpur, where I had my own little villa. Luxury at its best with everything you wanted and all sorts of little men roaming around you bowing and asking you 10 times if you need anything else. I was feeling like a king really; everybody was so servile to the point of awkwardness.

One night I was coming back by taxi from a hang out in Kuala Lumpur and it was pouring rain. Just when I got out of the taxi, this sweet little guy, half my size, with eyes the size of a bean and dressed in a colourful kimono immediately burst out the reception door with an umbrella to greet me. He bows in front me with his hands clasped like in prayer then looks up at me smiling like a puppy dog and with a very British accent he says: "May I take you?” Obviously my mind drifted away and produced some bat-shit crazy thoughts and with an "I beg you pardon?!" face I look at the half-sized human and say: "…". That means I didn't actually produce any sound - I was still looking at him extremely puzzled. He was staring at me as well and still smiling like he saw the sun and I bet we both looked like we were in the middle of a movie scene. Without the blink of an eye he repeats with the same joy: "May I take you?” Now I kinda figured he wants to walk me to my house, but I already had an umbrella and it was just few steps away. So I say "Oh, thank you! I'm fine though - it's close… But thanks!” My little man doesn't budge and he still stares at me blank. Like he didn't even hear what I said, he repeats, same voice, and same smile, like a broken record: "May I take you?” I honestly say that in that moment I felt that if I don't let him have his "way" with me I'm going to break his little heart. So I look into his eyes and with a soft, submissive voice, I surrender: "Ok… Take me!….”

I guess the moral of the story is that I maybe should do the same with my guys as well. Jump in front of them and ask them if I may take them so many times until they will submit to my immovability and everlasting smile. Well, that and I could add in some playing with a finger through my hair tilting my head on one side, just for artistic added value. Will knock ‘em dead.

Now that I gave you my “technical file”, we’re ready to move on to untangling the Personal Life mess of a section. It undoubtedly has been a mess for as long as I remember, but it truly gets wild following my decision to stop going to “straight” places and fully embrace the gay scene of Prague and as such moving to the next chapter of my mildly crazy gay life: The Coming IN.

Yours truly,
Carrie Bradshaw of Romania

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