When You Forget How to Be Gay
So I’ve forgotten how to be gay.
I’m newly single, and after four years of not dating, I’m thrust back into the world of needing to get laid on a regular basis. So my friend Jon drags me out to a couple of gay bars last week, (very famous gay bars, apparently, although I’d never even heard of either of them), and we proceed to have a good time.
All of a sudden, I realize that there are guys in there staring at me. Not staring as in they wanna become my BabyDaddy staring, or even creepy Rice-Queen-wanna-take-you-to-Astoria-and-dress-you-up-in-a-cheongsam staring, but more like - ‘What the fuck are you doing here, breeder?’
It really started to unnerve me when a guy accidentally touched my butt and then looked at me with fear in his eyes, like I was about to beat him up.
I’ve never thought of myself as typically butch. (As many would attest, they’ve never ever even thought of me having genitals.) But this was just out of the ordinary. I didn’t know what to do. Over my years of comfort and security, I had let myself stop being gay, and those other fledglings could sense that I didn’t know how to fly. As I contemplated maybe calling the go-go boy over to shove a fiver in his ass crack, it struck me; what if he doesn’t want to? What if he, (probably straight), thinks that I’m just fucking with him? I was mortified and terrified without having even acted. I was going to have my membership card cut up.
Later that night, I ended up home, not having brought anyone with me.
The next day, I overcame my fear of showering at the gym.
I’m not sure the two are related, but I’m sure that my therapist will have something to say about that. That stupid fruit.
If you enjoyed this post, please consider to leave a comment or subscribe to the feed and get future articles delivered to your feed reader.
Oh, Denny. I was wondering what became of you. Even contemplated calling you up just so I could hate crime your gay chiiinese ass.