The gay boys I hang with here in Hong Kong are pretty unbelievable, I mean, they score like nobody’s business. They make it look so easy because all they seem to need is an internet connection and a profile picture. I should be used to it by now but, admittedly, I am still slightly baffled when someone tells me about a late night booty call with a guy they never met before. And it’s not just the amazing amount of sex they have, what surprises me most is the ease with which they become friends or at least acquaintances with their hook-ups afterwards. GayRomeo, Grindr and gin-tonics is all they need to build a social network and a sex life all in one effort. All of this contrasts starkly with the lesbian scene of course, men and women are at their most diverse and divided when it comes to sex. But we already knew that.

“My friends and I, we’re kind of sluts.” Max and I were sipping cocktails during our weekly happy hour binge last Thursday. We were on our third and he felt like he had this announcement to make.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Hey, at least I own it, Lee. What have you got to show for? I like drama just as much you do but at least I don’t let it get in the way of my sex life.”
“You just said it, Max, you’re a slut.”
“So is everyone else I meet.”
“It’s different for lesbians. We need more time and we need to connect emotionally first.”
“Is that why you didn’t take Lucia up on her offer? You went on a four-hour date, how much time do you need? Please tell me you won’t blow her off a second time.”
“I didn’t blow her off. I just wanted to take it easy and make it more, huh, special.”
“Yes well, just make sure you shave your armpits and any other hairy bits so you’re ready to dive in tomorrow.” Sometimes I feel like my gay friends frown upon my lesbian ways.

The day after I had my second date with Lucia. I felt inspired by Max’s words and suggested we’d skip dinner. Instead I invited Lucia to my apartment to share a bottle of Piper I had saved for a special occasion. The weather had shifted, going from windy to almost smouldering in a couple of days. I put two chairs and a small table on my miniature terrace and, surrounded by tall illuminated buildings, we spent some time giggling and mock admiring the sea glimpse I enjoy from the twentieth floor flat of the fifty story high-rise I live in. “These city lights are all the stars we need”, Lucia mused after we had finished the first bottle. I got up to get another one when she grabbed my hand and brought it to her mouth. “You’re not going to say no tonight, are you?” She asked. Then she licked my thumb and slowly trailed it along her upper lip.
“Oh no, I mean, yes. You know what I mean,” was all I could mumble. And we kissed, awkwardly cramped between the furniture that took up all the space on the balcony. The evening air was soft, a mild breeze blew Lucia’s hair in my eyes, and I remember wondering, “Is this what they call explosions in the sky?”

When I called Max on Saturday he was so proud of me. I told him, “Pride has nothing to do with this, homie, I think I’m in love.”
“Urgh, you lesbians,” he said.

To be continued…