I’m NOT used to it, Marty. Not all of us are as privileged as you. Some of us have to work to support ourselves while we reach for our dreams.”
“I wasn’t insulting YOU...”
“You just insinuated that I was a stupid, aimless slut. And a prostitute. Not to mention the crabs and herpes. You should share your opinions with my modern dance teacher, she’d be shocked to hear it.”
“No! Chase! I’m all for you chasing your dreams and working for it. I understand. But as a GO-GO boy? You couldn’t find some other way? You can’t deny that at least some of what I’m saying is true. You guys are always rubbing up on each other, making out with each other. And there are strangers all over you all night long...”
“Right, and it’s also one of the highest-paying non–sex worker jobs that lets you make your own schedule and work evenings, freeing up the days for class. And it’s not like I’m FUCKING them. I’m just dancing, for Christ’s sake. In clothing that’s no more scandalous than what most of gay New York wears to sunbathe allsummer long on the Chelsea Piers. Wow, I didn’t realize I was on a date with New York’s only virgin. Is your chastity belt on extra tight today or what?”
“I never said I was Mr. Innocent. There’s just a fine line.”
“You fucking actors. It’s all appearances for you. Pretending to be something you’re not. It’s a job. It’s what I need to do. And does it really fucking matter if I make out with a guy in a club versus the privacy of my own room?”
“Yes! At least there’s a little privacy! Some dignity!”
“Ever had an STD, Marty?”
“Yeah. I had chlamydia last month. Which I got from my boyfriend who cheated on me with some slut he probably picked up in a gay club.”
“Ooh, scandalous. Maybe he was even a go-go boy!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Chase sits back. “Well. I don’t see any reason why we should see each other again if you can’t respect what I’m doing to make ends meet. Clearly you should’ve met me in a year, once I’ve graduated and am doing something you find more worthy of your attention.”
“What is there to respect? Your lack of tan lines or expertise at spinning around a pole?”
“Nothing at all, Judge Judy. Three nights a week, I strip down to tiny pairs of underwear and dance on the bar at Splash. Sometimes I yank the fabric up my butt to give the clientele more to see. Sometimes I take my G-string all the way off and hold it in front of my junk. At some parties, I dance naked! Maybe someday you’ll embrace your sexuality without instantly going soft from shame.”
I have no words. But that’s unacceptable to Chase.
“Speechless, huh? I must represent everything you hate about the club scene. Or is it everything you hate about the gay community at large? Everything you hate about yourself, perhaps?”
“What?” This is crazy! I haven’t said more than ten words since his revelation, and he’s acting like I’m a member of the Westboro Baptist Church who just condemned him to hell! “You don’t like actors, I don’t like go-go boys. I don’t see what the big deal is. We can just agree to disagree.”
“I didn’t launch into a fucking monologue insulting every single actor in the entire universe!”
“No, why would you? We’re doing SHAKESPEARE! You’re exposing your ass crack to the tune of Britney Spears! I don’t think there’s much of a comparison!”
Okay, I know I’ll never do Shakespeare. But I’m making a valid point here. Questions are sprouting up all over: Does he do drugs too? Does he go home with the heavy tippers? I don’t know who he’s been sleeping with. The life he leads. And I don’t need to spend every waking hour wondering.
There’s only one question that HAS been answered:
Chase isn’t the boy for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m not judging you. But I know myself well enough to admit I’d
“I wasn’t insulting YOU...”
“You just insinuated that I was a stupid, aimless slut. And a prostitute. Not to mention the crabs and herpes. You should share your opinions with my modern dance teacher, she’d be shocked to hear it.”
“No! Chase! I’m all for you chasing your dreams and working for it. I understand. But as a GO-GO boy? You couldn’t find some other way? You can’t deny that at least some of what I’m saying is true. You guys are always rubbing up on each other, making out with each other. And there are strangers all over you all night long...”
“Right, and it’s also one of the highest-paying non–sex worker jobs that lets you make your own schedule and work evenings, freeing up the days for class. And it’s not like I’m FUCKING them. I’m just dancing, for Christ’s sake. In clothing that’s no more scandalous than what most of gay New York wears to sunbathe allsummer long on the Chelsea Piers. Wow, I didn’t realize I was on a date with New York’s only virgin. Is your chastity belt on extra tight today or what?”
“I never said I was Mr. Innocent. There’s just a fine line.”
“You fucking actors. It’s all appearances for you. Pretending to be something you’re not. It’s a job. It’s what I need to do. And does it really fucking matter if I make out with a guy in a club versus the privacy of my own room?”
“Yes! At least there’s a little privacy! Some dignity!”
“Ever had an STD, Marty?”
“Yeah. I had chlamydia last month. Which I got from my boyfriend who cheated on me with some slut he probably picked up in a gay club.”
“Ooh, scandalous. Maybe he was even a go-go boy!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Chase sits back. “Well. I don’t see any reason why we should see each other again if you can’t respect what I’m doing to make ends meet. Clearly you should’ve met me in a year, once I’ve graduated and am doing something you find more worthy of your attention.”
“What is there to respect? Your lack of tan lines or expertise at spinning around a pole?”
“Nothing at all, Judge Judy. Three nights a week, I strip down to tiny pairs of underwear and dance on the bar at Splash. Sometimes I yank the fabric up my butt to give the clientele more to see. Sometimes I take my G-string all the way off and hold it in front of my junk. At some parties, I dance naked! Maybe someday you’ll embrace your sexuality without instantly going soft from shame.”
I have no words. But that’s unacceptable to Chase.
“Speechless, huh? I must represent everything you hate about the club scene. Or is it everything you hate about the gay community at large? Everything you hate about yourself, perhaps?”
“What?” This is crazy! I haven’t said more than ten words since his revelation, and he’s acting like I’m a member of the Westboro Baptist Church who just condemned him to hell! “You don’t like actors, I don’t like go-go boys. I don’t see what the big deal is. We can just agree to disagree.”
“I didn’t launch into a fucking monologue insulting every single actor in the entire universe!”
“No, why would you? We’re doing SHAKESPEARE! You’re exposing your ass crack to the tune of Britney Spears! I don’t think there’s much of a comparison!”
Okay, I know I’ll never do Shakespeare. But I’m making a valid point here. Questions are sprouting up all over: Does he do drugs too? Does he go home with the heavy tippers? I don’t know who he’s been sleeping with. The life he leads. And I don’t need to spend every waking hour wondering.
There’s only one question that HAS been answered:
Chase isn’t the boy for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m not judging you. But I know myself well enough to admit I’d
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