The Bohemain

I should confess. Bohemians turn me on. That unconventional creative energy coupled with often a rampant sex drive. Personally, I couldn’t imagine anything better. So you’ll understand what led me to pursue a ‘professional artist’ whom I sourced through the shallow pool that is Gaydar.

Having exchanged a few emails and debated the pros (my view) and cons (his view) of the Damien Hirst (yes, we’re still with old Mr Hirst), I felt that, if all else failed, I’d still have a conversation worth having.

That said the conversation was really quite enjoyable. We discussed art for the good part of an hour: themes including his own career, my most admired artists and a brief continuation on the Hirst debate. The Hirst was, in my eyes, a mostly successful show (which is no longer being shown as I found out when I went for a viewing earlier today with Ms Unravel). I did have my problems with it and it felt good to get a little brain fuck as we sipped on drinks.

Now, the problem wasn’t so much that he was bad looking. He was fine, if a little old looking at 31 years of age. Hi body was slender, his flesh seemed tender. But there, as he sat opposite me in The Village, I could not feel that pang of lust (such as that felt with Gael Garcia Bernal and Katie from the Apprentice), and I know then, that sex wasn’t really going to be an option. Perhaps if I was drunk, perhaps if he shaved off that beard and began to ooze that rough and ready sex appeal. The world, it seems to me, is full of these would be could bes.

And now for the interesting stuff…
He was, he confessed, ‘already in a relationship’. A long distance affair with a n Eastern European artist. Fine I thought, this ahs never gotten in the way before.

That his lover had a wife who was his professional art companion was something much more interesting to me. An open relationship and really no prospect of a threesome.

‘Whenever they come over and visit me, she sleeps on the coach and he sleeps in my bed’. Crickey.

I guess monogamy just isn’t for some people. There is something I admire about that woman you see. That she can embrace her husband for who he is. That she can support him, lose him and love him, all in one breath. I suppose, deep inside, it’s something I’d quite like to do myself. Share myself. Have two Me’s in the world. The thoughtful monogamist, the bohemian fuck puppet.