I’m going to tell you guys a story about what happened last night. At first glance the might come off as a “poor old me” story, but hold on and let me say my piece before you start rolling your eyes.
I worked a short shift today in downtown Charlotte and was feeling a bit antsy afterwards so I decided to throw caution to the wind and go out for happy hour at one of the nicer gay bars. I ordered a drink and sat down close to the front windows (I love to people watch). A well-built guy with a tiny tattoo on the side of his neck walked up to the little table beside me and sat down. This guy was wearing tight jeans, a white t-shirt and ball cap. I guess you’d call him a clean-cut redneck. Those two words don’t normally go together: clean-cut & redneck, now do they? Yes, he looked a little out of place amongst all the gay bankers and businessmen, but he didn’t seem to notice. I liked that. I smile at him a couple of time and after about 10 minutes; he asks if he might join me.
“Sure, pull up a chair.”
He does so and introduces himself. His name is Tad. He has what I’d call old-fashioned manners, kind of courtly and very attentive to me. I’m going to be blunt here:
He was fuckin’ hot and made my heart do that funny flip-flopping thing in my chest and my blood was racing through my veins. We’re having a really great conversation for about 30 minutes, until I notice that he keeps looking over my shoulder again and again and smiling. I wonder what the hell is up and sneak a glance around. Damn. I cringe and curse inside. There’s a sexy, little boy that barely looks legal standing at the bar, all alone and with this pitiful “help me” look on his face. This does not bode well for me...
Wait for it… Wait for it…
Tad soon excuses himself to go to the bathroom. On his way back, he (of course) detours off course and goes up to the boy and introduces himself. Tad sits down on the bar stool beside him and they start talking in earnest. I see the boy look over at me, motion toward me and say something. Tad makes an “Oh, that was nothing” dismissive gesture with his hand and they go back to talking. They leave together 20 minutes later, Tad's arm possessively curled around the boy's waist. Damn, that was quick.
Much to my consternation, I start to tear up right there in the bar but I don’t cry. I feel so insulted and humiliated. I’ve officially arrived at the point where guys your own age are no longer really interested in you and will dump you in favor of some sexy, young boy in a hot minute. I remember the glares and evil looks I used to get from the older queens when I first came out. I now understood what was going through their minds (they either wanted to kill me or fuck me). It’s hard when you first come to realize that you’re no longer the chosen one or the preferred one and that you can only command the attention of a guy if there’s not someone younger and hotter in the same room. I had hoped that by the time this happened, I’d still be in a relationship and loved. It wouldn’t matter so much then, ya know. Everybody’s turn will come and yesterday was mine. But one good thing about the whole situation was that it made me more aware of what older gay guys go through. I said a little prayer right there at the table and asked God to help me age gracefully, not be bitter and to be more empathetic toward the older gay crowd.
Yes, it’s a hard pill to swallow.
You’re a hung top with money.
These three things guarantee favor is the gay world no matter how (reasonably) old or ugly you get:
1. Big Dick
You know I speak the truth.
Ya'll be good. My old ass loves you.
Ya'll be good. My old ass loves you.