Attracting My Own Gender
Being a straight white male is by far the most convenient demographic.
No menstruation, no lynching, no unfair pay rates, no one hates me unless
they at least have a reason. Really, straight white males have nothing
to complain about. Gay white males, on the other hand, have two points
on which they may fairly complain. 1. Some people hate them for no reason,
resulting injustices from sneers to lynching. And 2. Only 10% of the men
they meet even have a potential for being attracted to them.
This second inconvenience has lead to the creation of the extremely useful
and often very accurate ‘gaydar’: A system by which gay men
can tell, with a fair degree of certainty, whether a prospect has the
potential to be interested. Gaydar relies on sensual cues: The way a man
carries himself, speaks, laughs, gestures, dresses, etc.
As mentioned above, I have no right to complain about anything, however,
I seem to be a sort of gaydar anomaly, acquiring winks and drinks from
attractive young men wherever I go. To an extent, I suppose the confusion
is understandable. I dance in a fashion that many have termed ‘gay’,
I have an occasional lisp, my jeans often fit well, and yes, sometimes
my pinky finger does stick out when I’m drinking my beer. Nevertheless,
I am straight.
I find flirtation to be enjoyable with pretty much anyone (excepting relatives
and small children), as long as the intent of the flirtation is not sex.
The intent of my flirtation, and indeed most flirtation, is fun, and so
I never saw in harm in flirting with guys. Nor do I, in truth, see any
harm in guys trying to pick me up in a bar. Frankly, it’s a little
bit flattering. What’s not flattering is that the last female who
tried to pick me up in a bar was markedly more masculine than any of my
previous male courtiers.
The assumption of my gayness is not limited to leather bound boys in smoke
filled bars. I recall an incident in my own home in which, much to my
surprise, my mother told me, with utter sincerity, that she was OK with
me being whoever I was. Already familiar with the common conception of
my homosexuality at my high school, I quickly told her that I wasn’t
gay, and had, in fact, just been making out with Sarah Ballard. She was
not impressed.
I’ve often found myself wondering if all of these people maybe see
something I don’t. Maybe, underneath it all I am a little bit gay,
and that’s why I broadcast such confusing singles. I’ve heard
that gayness is not an absolute sort of thing. A friend of mine, who is
in a PhD program for psychology, tells me that there is a sliding scale
of sexual preference and that most people are somewhere in the middle.
I don’t mind penises. Actually, I’m extremely fond of my own,
but I also have an overwhelming fondness for breasts. In fact, just typing
this I can smell my girlfriend getting out of the shower and am…being…drawn…hold
on a sec.
That was nice.
If any of my gayness is not overwhelmed by the steaming vision I just
witnessed, it is lost in the unfortunate and arbitrary inconvenience of
the homosexual lifestyle.
I genuinely respect gay people, and I almost always like the guys who
try to pick me up in bars, I just don’t want to make out with them.
It takes strength and will to recognize an inconvenient truth within yourself,
but it takes even more strength to bring such a dangerous truth to light
in the hopes of finding happiness. And so I have a message for all the
gay guys out there who’ve hit on me. Thanks, I’m sorry life
sometime sucks for you, and I’m sure you’ll find the right
guy one of these days.
For a full year I wrote a weekly column for a daily paper in Boulder CO. I wrote about being young, poor and green, and the column was widely loved throughout the city. It remains one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.
If you've got some time on your hands...check 'em out.
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