Monday, September 19, 2011

Bar Tales

In my younger days when I was sexual active and hooking up regularly, I thought I was selflessly perform a service for mankind by sucking dicks. Yes, I thought I was oral-sexually healing and nurturing souls that were “in need”. If I had truly been selfless, I would have only blown the butt-ugly, the fat, the older-than-dirt and manic-depressives. But what fun would that have been, right? It’s funny the things we tell ourselves to justify sucking dicks left and right. Hmmm.

I always hated guys walking by me in a bar and staring at my crotch instead of my face. It’s creepy and it makes you feel like a piece of meat. I want to snap my fingers in their face and say, “Keep the eyes above the waist, buddy!” I’m not saying a have a “whopper” or anything like that, I’m just saying that the way that certain pants are cut, people can clearly see your junk in many instances. I got to the point where I’d wear really tight underwear under my jeans to flatten (and yes, squish – ouch!) everything down. Maybe if I had been a top, I wouldn’t have minded so much.

Which leads me to my next recollection of my barhopping days. Much to my everlasting chagrin, I was always mistaken for a top and the bottoms were all over me from the moment I walked in the door. I swear, I seriously thought of going to one of those make-your-own-tee-shirt shops and having one printed up that said, Goddamnit, I’m a bottom! When I’d turn to my friends for help, they’d tell me I was too butch.  Me?  Anyone that knows me really well would die laughing at that statement. I might look like some mean redneck from the wrong side of the tracks but inside I’m a big, poofy queen that reads bad romance novels and sleeps in a bed full of teddy bears with his orange attack cat, Carmeigh.

So for a period of time, I started making a point of dressing “gay-er” and acting more queeny when I went out. There was no way in hell anyone would ever mistake me for a top again. And yes, I was basing this on the current stereotypes of bottoms and tops in North Carolina (not the most “enlightened” place in the world, I might add) at that time. And what are those, you may ask?

*Tops dressed simple. Usually jeans/tee shirt combo and wore boots (my normal mode of dressing at that time).

*Tops spoke simply and didn’t wave their hands about and call each other “Girl” (again…me).

*Tops drove pick-up trucks or Jeeps (guess what I drove?).

*Tops are more apt to stare at a guy’s ass than a guy’s package (even though I’m a bottom, I’m a complete ass man and ogle that usually. As I mentioned above, I think crotch watching is kind of creepy and only under extreme circumstances will you find me checking out a guy’s package. OMG, I have to mention this tall, slender man that came strolling up the main aisle at work with his meek, mousy, knocked-up girlfriend trailing behind. I swear to God, it looked like he was smuggling an orange in his jeans. His basket was HUGE. I felt like going up to his poor girlfriend and giving her a "You go, gurl !" and a high-five).

*Tops had facial hair (I did) and apt to be hairy (I sorta am). Bottoms were supposed to be slight and smooth.

*Tops wore simple, manly fragrances like Aqua Velva, Brut or Old Spice, none of the high-priced sissy cologne from the department stores!

So (I kid you not), I went on a diet, kept myself clean shaven, started wearing daisy dukes, brightly colored shirts, tons of jewelry and flip-flops when I’d go out. I started using my hands when I spoke and I’d borrow my roommate’s Mazda Miata (a very bottom-ish car) when I could. Not only was I uber-gay, I was freakin' F-L-A-M-I-N-G, ya’ll !  You would have received third-degree burns if you'd stood next to be or passed out from the cloying, sweet cloud of Jil Sander For Men that usually surrounded me at that time.

But, I couldn’t keep up that facade for very long. Acting and dressing like that just isn’t me and to be honest, it wore me out. I’m neither butch nor fem; I’m just your typical gay man. Would you believe that even now when I make my semi-annual trip to a gay bar, guys will still come up to me and want to know why I don’t have the “pants” on. I just laugh and tell them I retired my daisy dukes when I turned 40. Folks, I look back at some of the dumb things I used to do and just shake my head in amazement. 

The one good thing about being old-er: 

The wisdom that comes with the life experience.

1 comment:

Ellis Carrington said...

LOL! That's hilarious, but it sounds like the custom t-shirt would have been WAY easier.

"It’s funny the things we tell ourselves to justify sucking dicks left and right."

And that? That's awesome. I will love you forever if you let me use that line in a book someday. ;-)