Edith Wharton said, “If we’d stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time.” Almost every gay guy I meet has his heart pinned to the outside of his jacket. Each of them have some tale, most of which would make a good storyboard for a TV pilot.
I want to exit the gay freeway on a regular basis. But I can’t. Because there is no exit. Not even a Wendy’s with a 24 hr drive thru. Some of the previously married guys now gone homo that I’ve met have done well because, well they were big freaking queens all along, mostly fooling no one and no one was particularly shocked, surprised or even that interested when they had their “moment of coming out”. Those were the lucky ones.
I struggle because I am normally a very transparent person. I wasn’t some prism that has multiple sides. I found that “telling it like it is” was the best course of action, though not always pleasant in the short term. Now I contend with office colleagues trying to introduce me to women in their 30’s. My mother reminding me about my wedding anniversary. Me having to have hushed telephone calls less someone hears Scrappy barking on the line to me on one of his 20 daily calls.
The answer would seem ready. Just stop. But that sort of advice wouldn’t be dissimilar to telling an alcoholic to stop drinking. If all sounds easy if you’re not in the mix master yourself. I’m not roaming about with a support group to back me up. Help me up when I fall. Or deal with whatever collateral fall out occurs. In some sci-fi world, I’d like to run some future simulation, see how it goes, mark spots to avoid.
I know I have many lurker readers. I guess many of them found the blog looking for answers as relates to their own situation. I’m left wondering how many of them disappear beneath the waves, content to have business trip illicit hook-ups, maybe a regular FB in town, or simply stew in their own juices and pretend to pray the gay away.
For folks like Scrappy, never having or desired to “be” with a woman, there was perhaps more drama than trama. Or maybe the cute university student who basically got date raped a couple of times by overly horny Sally Smith. He did it but didn’t necessarily enjoy it. I’m talking about people like you and I.
It’s late in the 4th quarter, the clock is running out and we’ve decided to switch teams. Lord have mercy on us all.