There's something about things that have holes that I just love. It could be the peak at something you're not supposed to see, a view of something sexy, the ability to poke your fingers into them and feel around. The curiosity as to how they formed - intentional, accidental or just with repeated use.
When I first met the Frenchman he had a pair of jeans with large holes in the legs which showed off his very sexy knees. It's one of my enduring images (and tactile memories) of those fledgling days of our relationship.
People too have holes, and I'm not talking about orifices. The imperfections they frequently try to cover up. In my work I have to poke and prod into these holes in people's lives because they're the bits that, while frequently labelled trivial, often have significant impact on their lives and health. Often in ways they have no idea of. While it can be dangerous territory to explore, the discovery of these perceived or real imperfections is often valuable for the people who harbour them. The truth is everyone has something they feel is imperfect or needs to be sheltered from the rest of the world. More often than not it's something that gives us individuality and makes us interesting and if embraced can make us better people.
For some of us being gay is that imperfection.