eternally perfect employee. So I quietly repeated my act of slowly opening the door and smiling at the next guy, in his plum pants, sage dress shirt buttoned down to the third button, to come in. The muscular guy behind my next suitor offered, “He’s gay, Megan.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you gay?” I say to the next guy entering my threshold of love.
He blustered, a laugh. “I’m not gay,” he said entering. He looked around as I closed the door. “Nice decorations. I’m really digging the colors, vibrant.”
My gaydar went off big time. His walk bordered on the effeminate. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted down his face. Then his wrist dropped limp as he pointed to the beautiful picture of the girl holding the camera.
“I bet she is taking a picture of us right now,” he laughed in a high pitch tone of voice. “Am I right?”
I slowly sat down wondering, is this what manhood has come to? Are men so afraid of us they are becoming exactly like us? I agree men and women can do similar things, but if everyone is similar, who is going to be different? “You are—”
“My mom calls me Tim. I call myself Timmy!” he said with special emphasis. “And yes, I am gay.”
“Tim, why would you answer my personal ad?”
“You can call me, Timmy.” He patted his face down using his handkerchief again like it was a foundation cushion. “I feel we have so much in common. You like to travel. So do I. You like to stop kissing Frogs. So would I. And the condoms. Oh, I loved the droopy condoms touch.”
“But I’m not gay, Timmy.” I anticipated the future conversation in my head. He’d say we could be friends, go shopping together, and discuss clothes. Why do I have to defend my heterosexual aka natural orientation? He’d accuse me of gay bashing. I’d end our little attempt at thwarting the natural order of love.
“That’s fine, dearest, Megan. Sometimes a girl, a man in my case, just wants to let his hair down and talk about things. Men in particular, how they mistreat us, take our bodies for granted.” He motioned up and down his thin body with a flourish.
He had a decent body. Small forehead, nice eyes, and slightly smaller shoulders, but no smaller than any other actor. “I reserve men for the quote unquote friend’s zone, Tim. But you’re not acting like a real man. See in short, you should be different than me. Men and women possess separate qualities for a reason. I’m an innie and you are an outie for a good reason. Men are stronger than women and women are more intuitively powerful than men for a reason. This just isn’t going to work out, Tim.” I intentionally got his name wrong to create distance between us.
“I’ll forget the name mishap, Meg,” Timmy started in his high pitched whine. “People are all the same. We have bodies and we want to use them. I’m not asking to sleep with you—that would be gross. I just want us to hang out. To become friends. By the way, I love how you look ravishing in all black. I bet none of these other jerks complimented you on your nice fashionista outfit. Black is so arty.”
“Actually, Timmy. Everyone of the men complimented me on my outfit. They just refused to use words. They stared, gawked, ogled, made non-verbal expressions of hunger and excitement. One man even sniffed the air, and said ‘love is in the air’.”
“You’re lying bitch!” He snarled. “I’m sorry. It’s that time. I apologize. I am really just lonely.”
“I have two best friends.”
And he started getting testy, “And they are trying to marry you off to some man and you don’t want to be with a man.” Timmy fanned himself down. “Are you sure you’re not gay, Megan? A Lesbian?”
“When did I have to start defending and declaring my sexual orientation? Why do I have to defend my heterosexuality? My natural heterosexuality. The way men and women are supposed to be, so this world can have families and children.”
“I’m fertile. You and I can
My jaw dropped. “Are you gay?” I say to the next guy entering my threshold of love.
He blustered, a laugh. “I’m not gay,” he said entering. He looked around as I closed the door. “Nice decorations. I’m really digging the colors, vibrant.”
My gaydar went off big time. His walk bordered on the effeminate. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted down his face. Then his wrist dropped limp as he pointed to the beautiful picture of the girl holding the camera.
“I bet she is taking a picture of us right now,” he laughed in a high pitch tone of voice. “Am I right?”
I slowly sat down wondering, is this what manhood has come to? Are men so afraid of us they are becoming exactly like us? I agree men and women can do similar things, but if everyone is similar, who is going to be different? “You are—”
“My mom calls me Tim. I call myself Timmy!” he said with special emphasis. “And yes, I am gay.”
“Tim, why would you answer my personal ad?”
“You can call me, Timmy.” He patted his face down using his handkerchief again like it was a foundation cushion. “I feel we have so much in common. You like to travel. So do I. You like to stop kissing Frogs. So would I. And the condoms. Oh, I loved the droopy condoms touch.”
“But I’m not gay, Timmy.” I anticipated the future conversation in my head. He’d say we could be friends, go shopping together, and discuss clothes. Why do I have to defend my heterosexual aka natural orientation? He’d accuse me of gay bashing. I’d end our little attempt at thwarting the natural order of love.
“That’s fine, dearest, Megan. Sometimes a girl, a man in my case, just wants to let his hair down and talk about things. Men in particular, how they mistreat us, take our bodies for granted.” He motioned up and down his thin body with a flourish.
He had a decent body. Small forehead, nice eyes, and slightly smaller shoulders, but no smaller than any other actor. “I reserve men for the quote unquote friend’s zone, Tim. But you’re not acting like a real man. See in short, you should be different than me. Men and women possess separate qualities for a reason. I’m an innie and you are an outie for a good reason. Men are stronger than women and women are more intuitively powerful than men for a reason. This just isn’t going to work out, Tim.” I intentionally got his name wrong to create distance between us.
“I’ll forget the name mishap, Meg,” Timmy started in his high pitched whine. “People are all the same. We have bodies and we want to use them. I’m not asking to sleep with you—that would be gross. I just want us to hang out. To become friends. By the way, I love how you look ravishing in all black. I bet none of these other jerks complimented you on your nice fashionista outfit. Black is so arty.”
“Actually, Timmy. Everyone of the men complimented me on my outfit. They just refused to use words. They stared, gawked, ogled, made non-verbal expressions of hunger and excitement. One man even sniffed the air, and said ‘love is in the air’.”
“You’re lying bitch!” He snarled. “I’m sorry. It’s that time. I apologize. I am really just lonely.”
“I have two best friends.”
And he started getting testy, “And they are trying to marry you off to some man and you don’t want to be with a man.” Timmy fanned himself down. “Are you sure you’re not gay, Megan? A Lesbian?”
“When did I have to start defending and declaring my sexual orientation? Why do I have to defend my heterosexuality? My natural heterosexuality. The way men and women are supposed to be, so this world can have families and children.”
“I’m fertile. You and I can
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