Word: James Gannaban

Aviation is a time-honoured sex fantasy. This can perhaps be attributed to the delightfully obscene shape of aircrafts, the delicious ache from the bondage of tight seatbelts; the orgasmic spasms from the constant vibration of powerful engines.

For gay men, the appeal of aviation is obvious enough. After all, we have acclimatiseded to gay culture via a diet of Falcon oldies-but-goodies and Tom of Finland. We like men in uniform. Delicious images of the “Twinky Trolly Dolly” and the “Beefy Flight Captain” are staples in our wank bank.

And at the head of it all is the cockpit.

The cockpit is the enclosed playground of a privileged few. Access to the cockpit represents the ultimate key to flight – to an unparalleled freedom, to a borderless high. Sure, I would give up a finger (natch) for a membership to the “Mile High Club” and the 15 minutes of bragging rights that come with it.

But… am I really turned on by deep vein thrombosis, dehydrated food, screaming children, and no flushing water? If I throw the cockpit’s door open, will I not be confronted by a dizzying assortment of panels, knobs and blinking lights that are meant to control the flight of a pressurised metal tube? How is this sexy?

Gay life in Hong Kong is a similar vessel of contradictions. On the one hand, our fair city is a world capital of bacchanalia – check out Volume on a Wednesday night. Ours is a borderless playground that attracts any gay man who simply wants “some fun” – freely available at the Sunday Morning Party, no discrimination.

On the other hand, haven’t we heard only too often that the Hong Kong gay scene is a black hole – a homogenous, murky soup – that doesn’t value diversity? Why do I practically need a visa to enter the village inadvertently colonised by K-swaying Muscle Mary’s at circuit parties? Shouldn’t “Asia’s World City” be able to offer more than an embattled Bangkok or, gasp, a sterilised Singapore?

Thankfully, the discourse on the cockpit and the local gay scene isn’t a dead end. While tension certainly exists between high fantasy and grounded reality, there’s a unity of sorts – a harmonious accommodation, a synthesis.

So, say it turns out that the “beefy flight captain” has too high pitched a voice to stimulate you, really; or that the “sensual Adonis” you were grinding against at the Sunday Morning Party turned out to kiss like a fish, what then?

Chin up; stay optimistic! Either stick to your guns, or keep on moving – but whatever happens, don’t stop. Run on autopilot, if you must. If you don’t play, you don’t win. If you don’t leap, you won’t experience the exhilaration of flight.

And the next time you hear a snobbish queer from San Francisco or London whining that Hong Kong is such a black hole, keep in mind:

A “black hole” exists within a universe created by a “Big Bang.”

Welcome to The Cockpit.

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