Words: James Gannaban

The narrative engine of Sex and the City 2 roars to life as Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte glide down the aisle of an extravagant Arab carrier. This is no budget airline; we’re spoiled with an obscene parade of designer duds, steamy locales and libidinous hunks. With shamelessly flamboyant flair, the fantasy continues: we’re in Abu Dhabi! For two hours or so, we are sufficiently entertained.

Surely, you identify with one of the four heroines. You want to live her life. You dream about sleeping with her men. Should we all be so lucky as to have a choice between Aidan or Big – and then indulge in collective neuroses over fancy food, whilst wearing casually ostentatious frocks? Oh, the agony! The sheer torture!

It’s a self-indulgent existence– one that’s familiar to us, gay men. We work hard and party harder, which we pay for with stringent dieting and punishing gym routines. Since we are not socially burdened with raising a family, sometimes, a couple of dogs qualify as “kids.” Dogs are better than kids for picking up a trick, anyway. Casual encounters are de rigueur– an acute fix for a chronic itch. Our vanity is so ingrained, it’s an alien notion for us to care about a partner. And even when we think we start to care about a boyfriend, it simply reverts to a personal need for affirmation. We’re merely in love with love. Lady Gaga knows us well– a “Bad Romance” is the rule, rather than the exception.

Can Carrie ever really choose between Aidan or Big? Or will Carrie forever be consumed by the enduring temptation of an old flame? And on the side, will she ever restrain herself from indulging in orgiastic frenzy with Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin?

More is more– that’s the story of our lives. Will we ever be content to share The Cockpit with just one co-pilot? Or will we forever respond to the seductive clench of many a trolly dolly’s firm ass?

If only the gay dating scene were as simple as choosing between one or the other. We’d be lucky to even have the luxury choice. In the first place, manning The Cockpit means safely shuttling hundreds of passengers and tons of cargo to a given destination.

Charlotte says, “Being in a relationship is not a job, but it’s hard work.”

So you wonder what happens when the novelty of flying wears off, when your romance with New York, London or Hong Kong eventually starts deceiving you like a mirage in an Abu Dhabi desert. Would the cold isolation of open skies provide any escape? Or will you simply land on an imaginary tarmac lined up with your usual fix of designer duds, steamy locales and libidinous hunks?

When you come to that point, take a break– two days out of seven– in an old apartment, by yourself. Indeed, it takes a refueling to realize that The Cockpit is warmer when you’re not flying solo.

James Gannaban, the co-founder of Mr. Gay Hong Kong, has always got his head high up in the clouds.