What can I possibly write about online hook up sex sites that hasn’t been said?

I’ve been off them for a couple of years since a guy I was seeing made me delete the last of the profiles I had, which was basically to stay in touch with a lot of guys I know in Europe.

The last straw for me came when this guy I was with looked at me and said, “Ya I took some GHB, didn’t I put any in your drink?” I’m no prude, but since I put “NO PNP” in my profile, and the fact I’ve O.D’d on this stuff before, I didn’t take kindly to the prospect of nonconsensual drug use.

Fortunately there was none in the drink, as I know all to well what it tastes like and its effects. It was the fact my choice could have been taken away from me that hurt.

For the last couple of years I’d rely on a couple of dwindling fuck buddies that I could call up. Slowly this was turning into a pretty sexless life.

My return to the avenue of online shopping was prompted by my trip to Tel Aviv. First the guys are super hot there; I had to meet a few. Secondly, I don’t go to bars to meet people anymore, and I don’t drink.

Feeling not that confident anymore, I snapped a webcam shot of myself thinking that at least if they message me it will be the most recent photo I can have. To my surprise, I learned that being “fresh meat” in Tel Aviv, even being me, means there’s a lot of demand. I think over the month I got about 70 messages. I was shocked!

The problem in Tel Aviv is that everyone has their heads buried very deeply in their asses about HIV. Despite there being over 7,000 positive guys in the area, when I disclose I’m treated like I’m the first poz person they’ve ever encountered. I get the questions. I tell them, there are 7,000 guys here who are positive, you’ve fucked many of them, don’t treat me like I’m the first.

Suddenly there is a concern about doing this or doing that, even though they are happy to do this or do that with those who don’t disclose. This different environment that I’m used to took me back a bit. I had to decide what was the best way to do this.

It wasn’t like I have having sports sex on the hour.  I didn’t mention it at fiirst until we were talking face to face. It’s not my favourite way, but at least if someone is going to be an asshole, they can do it to my face instead of just ignoring a message I’ve sent.

Coming back to Canada I decided to create a couple of profiles. I’ve always thought there is something odd about gay Torontonians, and going back online really confirmed it.

Suddenly, (fresh-meat syndrome excluded) on the first site, there was no interest at all. Something happened to me over the course of flying those 6,000 miles back home. This site is exactly the same as it was several years ago - stale with the same 60 to 70 odd guys parked waiting for someone to message them.

The second one is marginally better as I will log on and see a few messages. In each I’ve said I’m positive at the end of my written portion.

I don’t like the sites that force me into disclosing. I usually do anyway, but I’d like that choice. It feels like I’m being outed to be avoided.  I like to have the choice on how I disclose such issues.

The lay of the land has changed quite a bit. I highly suspect the D&D free people are negative looking to bareback “safely.” So in essence we have many barebacking sites even if we don’t call them that.

There is a bit of dishonesty there, as they go out of their way to exclude, but can’t say it’s because of barebacking.

One guy I met off of this site, during our email exchange asked about my status. He’s very young, in his twenties. I wrote him back and expected to hear nothing back. Instead I received a nice reply saying we could still play “safely.”

What I didn’t realize is our two-tiered sex reservation system. Namely, the best sex (first class) is without condoms, flying economy, you use condoms; both of these will get you to your destination, just one is more desirable. So the HIV status question can be more about determining what kind of sex is available. But it's hard to know what are someone's motives. 

Perhaps with Israeli HIV-stigma fresh in my mind, I began to feel like an outsider looking in and much more so than I had ever in the past.

As per a friend’s recommendation I went on a barebacking site. I never ever contemplated such sites before in my life.  To my surprise I got 30 messages in a week. 

Even with people condemning such an act, I did it and was surprised to see that I was no longer on the inside looking out. This is a very low stigma site. I don’t use condoms with other positive guys anyway, so what the hell.

The irony is that the sites that I once scorned and judged are the very ones that I find the most affirming. Really who wants to be at a party where nobody wants you, which is how Manhunt & Gaydar etc. begin to feel like.

I’ve now successfully turned around my sexless life, one of my goals I can cross off of my "to do" list post-Tel Aviv. 

It’s taken me a long two weeks to get back on my feet post-Israel trip. Since then it’s been cold and rainy here, so it’s beginning to feel like all that sunny freedom from SADS has disappeared…(Technically it’s SAD, but it just doesn’t seem right unless I make sad plural.)

Just last Saturday I sent a message to a friend living in St. Martin for the winter. I was at my wit’s end, in "just get me the fuck out of here" mode.  But after Margaret Thatcher’s death I gave mother nature a bit of a break. She’s merely trying to detox herself from the shock of Thatcher’s body returning to earth. Even she doesn’t want her back, it seems.

Today there is some sun, and suddenly the veil of fogginess and fatigue begins to lift. This is why I start planning getting away a year in advance. For me it’s no longer about glamour, it’s about survival. Had I been around for March I either would have jumped off my balcony and/or killed someone. No doubt that person I’d kill would be a TTC passenger taking up two seats with his or her backpack during rush hour.

It was a great trip. The guy I was shtumping turned out to be an over aged gay hipster artist who lives in the moment and has no real attachments. That translates into having a great time when together, forgotten about when not, and tells me he doesn’t believe in long distance communication when I said I’ll give you my email and stay in touch.  After he said that I never saw him again. I wanted to get to know people so that when I return I’d know people.

I did make this objective of getting to know others there. I call this my introductory trip to Israel. There will be many more to come. Historically, I’ve picked a city and made it kind of my second home. When I lived in Winnipeg, I did that in Toronto. I had so many meetings out there (pre-internet days) and a social network that one day it became impossible to have to return to Winnipeg.

Both Amsterdam and New York were “second homes” for me. During my stay in Tel Aviv I knew that this was now becoming my second home. This time with a twist, that this is the homeland of spiritual ancestries, and a tribal connection to the land and people.

This month was a time for reflection. The past year I had let go to the foundations of what I need in life. I became so determined to do stand up that I’d become sick this last winter and part of the summer. I’d get up maybe four days in a row and then get knocked down with something. In fact right before leaving I got sick and had to cancel about three gigs. I’m so tired of getting smacked down all the time. I need my health.

That means focusing on storytelling performance and putting together the one hour long solo show that I’ve thought about for the last few years. I’ll still do some stand up but only when I have things I really want to try out.

In Israel there were times when I longed for the interpersonal connections I have at home. It was a Dorothy moment. If I just click my heels three times I have it all right in front of me, even in Tel Aviv.

The third part is my Judaism. There is this essence to the community, culture, language and another kind of connectedness.

Lastly, I need to get back to the gym. Nothing like seeing so many hot guys to get one motivated to getting back into some form of shape and introduce plain old-fashioned cardio in an internet-induced sedentary lifestyle.

For the one hour show, I want to be able to workshop it at The Flying Beaver by late fall or early winter of next year.  Eventually I’d like to do this solo show in Tel Aviv (very long term goal) as there will be some topics in there not talked about so openly in Israeli gay society.

Provided I can pull a couple various elements together for returning to Tel Avi, I’d like to return for three months. I’d also bring Hildy with me.

 My friend asked my last time, “I want to hear about all the hot guys you did!” I replied, “I’m not going to talk numbers (I only diddled 3 guys but we’ll keep that between us) but I did receive over 70 messages in my Atraf profile, the local sex site. 

My plan for this night is to attend the StorySlam: Adventures in Food   event while I’m here in Tel Aviv. I figure this has to be in a restaurant or something. But it’s not. It is in a location in what starts to feel like a no-man’s land as I am entering an industrial area.  I am as directionally challenged as my dyslexic-like inability to spell, just to give a bit of context.) 

I manage to navigate my way there on foot without too many problems but still, I feel so unsure of where I am going. Only once I go the wrong way and have to back track. But it still takes me a long time to get there.  

The venue, as it turns out is a beer distillery called “The Dancing Camel” Approaching the door I see a sign, “Storyslam, yes you found it, come on in.” At least I’m not the only one. Apparently they changed locations as the last month they had over 100 people. It’s the only show of this kind here in English.

Just around the bar is a friendly woman with short brown hair sitting on a stool. “Are you here  for the storyslam?” It turns out she has family in Toronto. When I give her my card for my (and Erin Rodgers) show “Tales of…. “ She says, “Oh Bloor Street, great location”. Her name is Xoli, (and I’m sure to fuck this one up. You know me and names.)

I’m asked if I wanted to tell a story. I wasn’t expecting this. The theme is food. Do I tell a story or not? If I don’t I’ll be pissed off at myself afterward. I put my name down on a piece of paper and throw it in a bucket.

Soon all the organizers know there is a guy here from Toronto with a storytelling show. I feel special, yet pressured now. I’d better be fucking good after the buzz that is happening now.

The host for the evening who produces the show has a TV show on a local Israeli station about restaurants. He says it’s similar to what English TV does, which I’m not sure what that is. He is super nice.

Despite my getting lost I’m still really early. Outside I’m chatting with ex-pats from all over. I feel a sense of camaraderie with the ex-pats and the performing community. One Persian-American woman from LA, super outgoing, tells me she is friends with one of the guys on the reality show “The Shahs of Sunset.”  She pulls out her phone and shows me a photo. I’m now in love with her!

A couple of other people introduce themselves just out of the blue. How un-Toronto. Compare and contrast.

The original woman I met and her husband own a very well known café called XoHo, the name based on putting letters from both of their names together. I now have multiple invitiations from them and others who work there to come down and visit.

Prior to the show, they have a musical act playing, bluegrass kind of blues, complete with harmonica and violin. They are amazing, and a bit hipster looking. Voilà, I finally found some. I knew they were here somewhere. But hipster-Jew, one with a tzitzit, attached to his guitar belt (this is the fringe that is found on a prayer shawl).

Suddenly I realize these are the guys I had been listening to on YouTube performing “The Roommate Song” at a different venue. Wow, I’m amazed at how this is coming together.

Sitting on a stool I realize that there is an orthodox Jew sitting behind me complete in a black hat. “OL this should be interesting” as I project all my pre-judgments on him.

It turns out he is Yisrael Campbell, the very one who is a successful comic, actor and has the acclaimed one-man show called “Circumsize Me” that played in Toronto. More and more I’m realizing I’m participating in something really special

When it comes to Storytelling show time, I know what story I will tell. It is about the time I made pot brownies and had to go to the hospital with a cold-induced asthma attack and ate the brownies.

When it comes to loto (Editors’s note: I have no idea what this is. Lotto maybe?) spots, I either never get them, or I’m last when there is no longer an audience. The host picks a piece of paper and reads it, “Our first storyteller of the evening is Brian Finch.” “Fuck” is going through my head, as I’m nervous. This is the first time performing in a different country.

I tell my story, and I kill it. I don’t say that often. If I sucked, I’d say so.

After the show, all the producers tell me how much they enjoyed the story and how great that I was the first one up to start the show. Again, Wow! I was scared, and I get this wonderful warm reaction.

Now I’m invited to future musical events at this venue. I’ve met so many amazing and fun ex-pats.

It’s official. I have fallen in love with Tel Aviv.

I’m writing this as I’m desalinating from spending the day at the Dead Sea. For years I’ve hear of this wondrous place where one’s body becomes a floatation device.

At first when I arrived I thought I’d get a friend’s cousin in Tel Aviv to be my guide. As it turns out I’m having a Tel Aviv fling over the course of this month. Nothing serious, like planning a long distance relationship. I’m pretty sure as much fun as it is, the expiry date will be the moment I board the plane. Nonetheless, it is quite nice. It has been well over a year and a half since I’ve actually spent the night with someone. Twice in one week is a miracle, and very nice. 

We met because of a profile on the local gay site. He’s the only one so far I’m met. But over 70 messages later, I’ve been deprogramming myself from the old negative message track in my head, that is: I’m getting old, I’m not in shape like I used to be, I don’t have much to offer.

In Toronto the stand-up schedule does mean that time to meet guys is limited, let alone have anything sustainable. Also I tend to go from 0 to 60 to co-dependency mode in about three seconds. Even here, what I tell myself is go be independent and plan out what I want to do, and figure out where this other stuff can fit in. If not I turn into this big needy blob. But at least I can recognize it, which is why I have my next four or five days all planned up.

Weirdly though, the morning after spending the night together, I felt sad. Maybe because I know this is just a fleeting moment in my journey. Perhaps it’s a reflex from all those “paid” overnights. I started to wonder, “Have I become one of those guys who used to arrange nights with me due to the big gaping hole of intimacy in my life”.  A Chihuahua, after all,  can only do so much.

I did tell him I’m positive after hanging out a bit. I’ve since learned that this is something not many guys do here. But I had to. I’m just a Google away from him finding out anyway. Besides I can’t relax and feel authentic if I’m hiding something.

It was not a problem. Even when he asked whether doing such and such thing is safe, he was so cute and sweet about it.

Tonight I’m meeting with pretty much the biggest and most long term activist in Tel Aviv. Surprisingly enough, up only until now, he’s been the only public out positive person in Israel. There is a lot of work to do. He tells me that they have about six guys who are going public, which is great. A little context in which I disclosed.

My fling and I met up yesterday early and drove to the Dead Sea to his special spot. Not only did my dream of floating in the Dead Sea come true, I was doing it in the arms of a guy I really liked. It was this rare romantic moment. And then I blew him in one of the hot springs, just before a bunch of Haredim (Ultra Orthadox) men came down. This was the one time I was happy that they made the girls stay away at the top of the hill as we were butt naked floating in the water.

I panicked a little. I thought, “Please don’t bring the girls down!” Once I realized they weren’t coming down I was OK. I hear stories about the ultra-religious freaking out about stuff and wondered if our gayness was going to evoke a rant or something. It became clear everything was OK, though.

My camera got a bit mucked up so my photos (above right) aren’t too clear.

I’m off to a Storytelling Slam tonight about food, something about which Israelis are passionate. Then tomorrow night I’m going to attend the Tel Aviv’s gay men’s choir called Gayzmers.

On Friday I’m working out the details to head over to Jerusalem to meet a couple I know from Toronto who are studying here. Once a month there is a very musical and joyous Kabbalat Shabbat (the welcoming in of Shabbat). It is supposed to be very cool, and it’s looking like it will pan out.

About eleven years ago I sat by the Mediterranean Sea ,  contemplating life in the south of France.  I’d been living in the sub culture of the sex and party scene. For me it’s a combo that took me all across the United States and made New York and Amsterdam my second homes.

Once upon a time I had lived in the south of France. There was a bench in the old port of Marseilles I’d sit on thinking about life to the blue waters of the ocean. I wanted to go back to that bench once again to sit and think.

Instead what happened was my wallet got stolen on the way down from Paris, and all weekend was spent dealing with figuring that mess out and not getting to sit on my bench.

So I kept moving forward and decided I’d take in the Mediterranean from the beaches of Nice.

It was a glamorous way to feel lost. It was during this time I realized as I sat on the beach gazing out onto the waves of infinity that I had simply stopped believing that I could have a life any different than that the one I had. I call it my “Peggy Lee” moment. You know the one, where I imagine I’m smoking and as I blow out my last puff, I say to myself “Is that all that there is?”

At the time I felt that was it. I had run my health so much into the ground from flying away to places to party - and then come home to fall apart.  At the time I was resistant to a lot of the medications, so I wasn’t sure if there was going to be a new combination for me anytime soon.

I had some resistance to what I was taking. I had a viral load of about 4,000. It doesn’t sound like a lot. Imagine a leak in a damn. It doesn’t cause damage right away, but over time it can be quite corrosive. This is what happened to me. Not only was I depressed, I was tired all the time, and this was all that was left for me.

The list og goals I wrote on that beach in my journal is one that I keep with me to this day. Looking back they seem like such simple goals. I wanted to get the drugs and partying out of my life. I needed to get my act together so when new treatments came out, I wouldn’t fuck those up as well.  I wanted to go back to school.  I needed an overhaul.

All these years later it stuck me how much of a full circle has come out of that moment of reflection. All I needed to do at that time was believe that there could be more. No more than that, just believe.

Next week I will be flying back to the Mediterranean yet again. This time, I will be on the other side, Tel Aviv. The symbolism struck me last night for the first time. I’m heading back to the sea to reflect, write, also travel and be a tourist.

In 2002 I realized what it was like to lose all faith that life could be better. In 2013, eleven years later, life is unrecognizable compared to those days.  At every stage of my life, if someone had the knowledge to tell me what I’d be doing in the future, I wouldn’t have believed them - converting to become Jewish, doing comedy and producing a storytelling show with some of Canada’s top comedians and storytellers.  In just over a year I went from being a spectator to full-on participant sharing the stage with the likes of Scott Thompson, Sandra Shamas, and Elvira Kurt.

Health wise I’ve gone from being constantly sick and viremic to slowly piecing together the tools that can help, with a naturopath. This time it’s working. The constant infections are now being minimized. Discovering I was anemic was a huge step in getting my life back. 

A lot has changed. There will be no more Peggy Lee moments. Life has become an adventure again.  No trips to the south of France trying to re-create old moments from the past.

This time I’ll be sitting by the sea writing, thinking about how much life has changed. I’m hoping the distance and tranquility will allow me to finally get started on storytelling writing. Once I have enough stories, I’ll have a solo show to put together.

In the meantime, I’m sure in between great pensive moments, I’ll be taking in a lot of the scenery of hot Sephardic Israeli men. 

There was a time when I had my authorization to possess marijuana card from the government. It made for great I.D. However, I let it lapse.

Since my teens I’ve been off again and on again with marijuana. It has been wonderful for my increasing my appetite, especially when I’m sick with fevers etc.

The problem is that I’m kind of an all or nothing kind of guy. What starts as a few tokes a day can easily escalate into lighting up at dinnertime, and every hour. I am not a social person when I smoke pot. I become very reclusive. I watch TV, don’t answer my phone and end up spending a lot of money.

The difference between when I’m smoking and when I’m not is like night and day. Smoking equals isolation, while not smoking equals being active and social.

Cognitive issues have been a problem for me as well. Ever since I went into a translation program at Glendon College (French to English) I began to notice a cognitive deficit. My ability to edit my writing was hopeless. On one assignment I neede to go over the paper 50 times, each time finding a new mistake. My memory was shot. One of my professors would joke about me leaving stuff behind all the time.

That was over ten years ago.

I had been smoking daily for about five or six years when I decided to quit all the drugs I had been in to. At my worst, I was doing GHB, Crystal Meth and all sorts of stuff. I took a couple years to get rid of the most dangerous of drugs.

When in Europe, I had been staying with a friend in Brussels who managed a night club. I had all the alcohol I wanted and frequent dinners out with bottles and bottles of wine. I had run out of pot and we drove to Amsterdam to pick up some more. Plus I was missing my meds at a time when I was running out of options.

Combining all of this, I said to myself “I have to take a break from drinking.” I came home for four weeks and went back to Europe again. During that break I stopped drinking. I even made it through Pride without one drink. “Hey I’m doing great, let’s stop the pot.”

Boy, I was in for a rude surprise. After quitting,i t took me forever to get to the point where I could stop. I’d try, and then wind up smoking a joint anyway. I knew that I would be in for some sleep disturbances. What I didn’t know was that I’d maybe get two hours of sleep a night. If I was lucky I could get back to sleep for another two. This went on for a very long time.

When I was fortunate enough to get to sleep I woke up completely drenched, including my pillows and sheets. I had to change my bedding in the wee hours of the morning.  I had the craziest of bizarre and incredibly intense dreams. After waking up I could not shake off the feeling of terror, sadness or whatever the emotional state of the dream was.

I was getting worried. Since I had never heard of such detox problems, I thought I was getting sick. I went online and found that this was indeed a common experience. Yet none of my friends experienced this. One friend, a daily smoker, could leave it to go travel and not have one problem. Me, not, so much.

Arriving back in Amsterdam, I had no sleep in the prior 36 hours. I was a mess. My friend took me to a boathouse were I could try to sleep while waiting for my hotel check-in time.

During my sleep I woke up in a state of semi-conscousness in a complete state of panic, breathing extremely quickly. When I finally woke up, I was crying uncontrollably as I looked at the Amsterdam houses lining the canals.

During that seven week stay in Brussels, my final destination, I did not smoke any pot or drink.

Fast forward to a year ago. When I found out I was booked to do stand-up for the very first time as a fundraising activity for the Stephen Lewis Foundation I went directly to a friend’s place and had a toke.

I was in a state of panic. I thought I could regulate it by only having a toke when at his place. I just started going there all the time. Finally after a falling out with him, I went back to my old compassion clinic and got my own.

The amount I was smoking was increasing and increasing. My socializing and getting out was getting extremely limited. I was getting a lot of colds to, and I’m sure having burned-out lungs didn’t help.

I couldn’t get anything done. My motivation was gone. I knew that smoking pot, for legitimate reasons or not, had become a barrier to moving forward in life. I have all these things I want to do, and I wasn’t doing anything.

Additionally my memory was becoming worse. My cognitive issues were worsening. My Facebook wall looked like a Scrabble board threw up on it.  Sentences often had words missing and typos were commonplace. My ability to spell had gotten to the point where I feel I have a learning disability.

Writing, and even processing abstract concepts as well as organizing myself had become an extreme challenge.

I knew I had to stop. This time it took me two months to finally put it down.  I am now a week and a half into it. I’ve been out more than I have been in a long time.

One comic said to me, “Hey good to see you, you’re out!” and I replied, “That’s because I quit smoking pot.”

Ironically the only time I get booed on stage doing comedy is when I say I stopped smoking pot by other comics.

I’m not trying to say smoking pot is evil or you shouldn’t do it. We are all very different. I don’t know why but I am really affected by it. Last week I couldn’t couldn’t get to sleep until 3 or 4 am.

I am going to Israel for the month of March. I knew I was heading to my “pot cliff” and it was better to sort this now before I go.

My recommendation for smokers is to take breaks. Take a month off here and there. Do a detox. Find out how sensitive you are to withdrawal. 

Since I've had people refuse to believe me that I had this experience, I thought I'd share it with the community.