the exile within

I am in the back of a cab with my piano stool next to me, upturned. The driver keeps quiet, and I have playlists running through my head. We’re driving on the Ayalon highway on the way to Tel Aviv. I use my mobile to call Y at work. After 10 minutes I switch off and look out the window at the Azrieli Towers. 

“Man, you sure can talk to the ladies, eh? That girl, you looked like you could talk to her on the phone all night long! No stops, eh?”

“I don’t - I mean, that’s a close friend I was talking to.” I am amused but brief. 

“Yeah, close friend,  I bet. But listen to this - if she came up to you, took you out, showed you a good time, you know what I mean? If she wanted to take you to bed, you mean to tell me you wouldn’t do it, like, if she fell in love with you?” 

There’s my cue. I take the plunge, though with experience it has become more of a hop than a leap. For good or worse, I have never encountered any severe reactions to my sexuality apart from quiet disapproval and distrust. 

“Actually”, I look the driver in the eye through the rear view mirror, “I’m not really into girls that much.” 

A variation on a well-known theme ensues. 

“What, you mean to tell me you’re into guys?”

“Well, yeah, mostly.”

“What do you mean mostly, so you’ve slept with girls too?”

“Um, not so far. Only guys. But I guess it might still happen.” 

The driver squirms visibly. “Look, I don’t mean to be intrusive, I don’t want to embarrass you. Of course you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“No! No, I’m very happy to, no problem. Don’t worry.”

“So, I mean… were you ever in a relationship with a man?”

“Yes, I was, for about a year. I was living abroad.”

“Because you see what I mean - like, maybe you fell in love with this guy, yeah? And you never slept with girls before, so you thought, because you loved this guy, that maybe you could only love men, you know? Maybe… you just got used to it?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so. Because I felt a desire towards men before I met this guy, you know?”

“But how would you know?”

“Well just like you might see an advertisement for women’s bras and get excited, I can get excited by images of men.”

“Walla.”

Walla indeed. When it comes to sex, I tend to see myself as a benevolent PR person. In many countries a window of opportunity has opened in recent years for many straight men to explore homosexuality as a concept without jeopardising their masculinity. Acceptance and full equality may be our goals as sexual minorities, but we must not neglect the buds of curiosity and learning as expressed by new generations of straights along the way. 

Once my driver establishes that I will not be taking offence at his ignorance, a candid discussion about anal sex begins to unfold. I explain my own dos and don’ts, but mainly work to dispel the all-pervasive notion, even among many of my friends, that gay sex requires one person to be “the man” and the other “the woman”. 

“It really is about chemistry and preference and the feelings involved in the particular moment. Some people will have a very clear idea about what kind of things they do in bed, but then you don’t need to be gay to be like that. I like variety, personally.”

“You know, sometimes I ask my wife and she just won’t do it with me. She says it’s too big…”

“Hmm… well It is a bit different for women.” 

“Anyway, thanks a lot for sharing all of this. I hope I haven’t offended you or anything. If you ask me, everyone should be respected for who they are.” 

“Hey, no problem. What’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Herzl. Very nice to meet you.”

We shake hands warmly. “How post-Zionist”, I think. At the show, I relate the story to my audience. “And people in London often ask me: is it hard for you when you go home, you know, being gay and stuff? They obviously had never been to Tel Aviv…”