Every now and again, one of you readers will post some comment that serves to agitate me. Poor little Steve, there in Hungary, could have stayed happy munching away on a Chimney Cake (otherwise known as a Kürtőskalácsm, the ‘c’ is silent), but no he has to rattle my cage. Based upon an in-depth analysis of my blog, he has decided I’m not gay or straight but have the dreaded “bi-sexual” me wanna hump hump everything disease.
Gee thanks, just what I needed to hear. With my new apartment, I now get LOGO TV, full of colorful fruits around the clock. I was watching a program the other night, the “A-List”, about New York City homos and I must say, I almost got physically sick. The homos tended to come in only two flavors, girlie boy with the gay mannerisms and the ‘he man’ look at my body muscle set (still with a girlie voice).
I started thinking about the event the other night. Bunch of dirty old man. It’s the look deep in their eyes that scare me the most, hardcore, let me show you my fist look. Then I have Single Guy, like a hamster on a wheel, round and round he goes. And lets not forget, Tiger Puff, who ran like a girl down the sidewalk in New York because he saw a rat (granted they have big rats in NYC).
So no, I haven’t really identified with the gay community. I’m unsure why guys take their shirts off in bars, not like they have big boobs to oogle at, muscles don’t do anything for me. Or the fruit fairy, wearing outlandish clothes. Or the twinke boy, J. Crew tight ass, Miss Priss with a fag hag in tow. No – none of these folks rotate my gyro.
But yet here I am.
I have met previously married gay men, many of whom it was clearly obvious I was dealing with a big ole’ bottom. How some of these guys pulled it off, I’ve no idea. I love the shock they expressed at having to deal “with such trauma”. Lack of courage would seem top on my list.
In NYC last week, I was scoping out a girl while TC was “shopping” (more like purchasing the store). He came over and asked if I was ‘checking her out’. Yup. For the first time, I think he realized I was dead serious. Now you could insert my Powder Puff into a sea of naked woman and he’d talk about fashion and hair, oblivious to the environment. Me, I could be trouble.
But yet here I am.