The party was in full swing; the house filled to capacity—a hundred percent homosexual. Due to the turnout, I was herded into a corner of the kitchen. That’s when I met (we’ll call him) S. As S chatted on about his life, I leaned back against the refrigerator and took another gulp of my vodka and lemonade. His body followed.
I wondered if—in his eyes—he saw me as the racehorse or the mule? Was I the one with the power or was he?
While we continued volleying tidbits from our lives and sharing opinions about the upcoming year, my mind would occasionally canter into thoughts about the socializing (and sometimes coupling) of gay men: the promotion of stoicism within our gender, our ongoing dance with masculinity versus homosexuality and our (generally) self-proclaimed position of power.
S was, quite refreshingly, open and honest. It seemed as though he had stabled the societal demands of masculinity—allowing a certain softness to blur the (sometimes) hard lines of man-mixers. This thrust my ongoing, internal deliberation into a gallop. Beginning with:
Can two gay men in a relationship together be powerful? Is one man always the racehorse and the other the mule? Could both be race horses? Or mules?
The relationship theory of The Racehorse and the Mule had been kicked into my social considerations several years earlier. Huddled around a table over lunch one day, the theory arose between bites of salad and alluring hair tossing, as two coworkers debated about a bourgeoning relationship.
“He is sooo the mule!” one girl declared. “But he thinks he’s the racehorse!”
Each of the girls, beautiful in their own way, were curvy, voluptuous man magnets: One a fiery reincar- nation of Sharon Tate the other a Carmen Electraish candidate for any centrefold scenario. Both in their mid-twenties, it seemed as if they had the market cornered on relationships. I found their observation both simplistic in its approach and complex in its theory.
Could the currency of desire be as simple as that? I wondered. Two horses—one a powerful purebred, the other a pedestrian laborer, each stepping up to the line to accept their part? To the girls, it was the racehorse that held the power—an obvious deduction. But what about two men, I wondered?
The years have passed since the introduction of said theory. Yet, while both dating as well as standing in the bleachers, I’ve constantly wondered about power, about the racehorse and the mule. Are you always one or the other? And if so, can you alter (or alternate) from one into the other— depending on the relationship?
“Not sure if words like never or always are real in a universal sense; but yes, usually one has more power than the other to some degree — [MH8] even if it’s only the ability to walk away feeling less pain and loss than the other guy.”
“When I’m interested, I’m in control. I try to be with men who interest me. Not sure if that makes me a racehorse?”
“I think the difference between gay and straight relationships are worlds apart.”
“Men are little boys and women know how to deal with little boys. They give them their pussy!”
“The only reason we look so successful is because
of a lot of therapy—of my getting out of my own way and learning to see him!”
“It’s not important enough for me to fuss with him. We sit down and have a political negotiation so that we’re both happy. Strength is recognizing someone else’s needs.”
“In our house, we ask each other this: Are you pissing on the grass, or is this really important to you?”
“Power—it’s an undercurrent in every relationship. If you are truly together, you are each, both, (racehorse and mule) at different times.”
Several nights later, while working on this column and thinking of S, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s S! Wanted to give you a call and see what you were up to.”
The kismet-ness of the moment made me laugh out loud.
“I was just thinking about calling you! I swear! (Which is true.) That is soooo weird!”
And as we continued on into our conversation, a smile came across my face.
All bets were off. There was (for me anyway) no race.
Why? Because, with almost 25 years between me and the girls—their coltish outlook—coupled with much participation and deliberation, I’ve come to understand this about relationships:
Although there are things one can control, like say body hair or whiter teeth, I’ve (fortunately) given up on the (false) perception of power.
Around us every day, there are a lot of powerful people/men, first-rate successes, the best in their field(s). And, although that power is (generally) perceived as enhancing a man’s desirability—the ultimate aphrodisiac—in the long run (for me anyway) it’s the ones’ who stable the power game, (like S) that become strong contenders for a loop around the track.
Sometimes we lead and sometimes we follow. Sometimes we win the prize—people cheering us on, and sometimes we have to pull the cart. Sometimes we feel hot and desirable, and sometimes we feel dumpy and unattractive.
But in the end— If you are truly in love—you become both The Racehorse and The Mule—doing whatever is necessary to keep things on track.
So here’s a joke:
“What do you get when you cross a Racehorse and a Mule?
Give up?
Two gay men who are being honest about their race to the winner’s circle!
So maybe you see yourself as The Racehorse... or perhaps The Mule? But I will leave you with this; a new word I came up with while writing this column:
What do you get when you combine the words Man and Marriage?
Man-iage!
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