My Black Leather Cap

I read an interesting article the other day about gay people potentially ruining marriages. Now, I’m not exactly sure what this means or how it works, but I thought it warranted some proper investigation.

It turns out there is an underground of closet gays masquerading as happily married men. Usually with two children, living in a three bed semi in Woking, who are constantly thinking about having an affair with Derek the retired Dentist two doors down. To make matters worse, if I didn’t know I was gay, then it will be thrust upon me, literally, having hit a midlife crisis.

Now, I don’t think I’m gay, but having read a particular article, I'm not so sure. It's suggesting I may only find out my true sexuality by chance when I’m in my forties and bump into a tanned, carefree and welcoming hunk called Bruce in the lift at Selfridges. I have to take this seriously, if only to stock up on Vaseline.

A midlife crisis can apparently be a catalyst for gay feelings to emerge from, and one day soon I may wake up, look at my wife and wish she were Freddie Mercury. I may also be tempted to wear her clothes and walk around the house dusting everything merrily with the Sound of Music soundtrack on CD in the background. I know I’m stereotyping, and I can’t see it myself, but maybe that’s the problem, it sneaks up on you from behind.

A friend of mine had a similar crisis with Porn. Having spent his entire pubescent years desperately trying to find old used hardcore porn magazines in the bushes of public places he suddenly discovered the Internet - a hub of hardcore porn activity that jumps out at you without warning while searching innocently for topics on Bush Tucker - and defected to soft porn. I mean soft porn, what is the point!

He was once an alpha male with a highly prized 'Ben Dover' collection but he's now resigned to being turned on by two almost fully clothed girls, stroking and petting each other in a bubble bath. Disgusting!

I’m not homophobic, but in conclusion, having subjected myself to some improper images of American motorcycle cops from the 70s and hours of intense listening to the village people and Jimmy Somerville, I think I am happy with breasts and Brazilians