Dinner is over. Peter is driving me back to Dupont Circle to my car. It’s not late. I wanna check out a bar. I have no idea why. It’s Pride Week afterall. Peter drops me at the corner.
“You’re going in by yourself?”, Peter asks. “Isn’t that a bit akward? You’ll look like you’re cruising”. Yup, but I wanna for some strange reason. “OK, you want me to go with you? It’s no problem. It will look better.” I’m suddenly touched by Peter’s offer (he’s straight) and concern, realizing now that I have a fair number of friends who are watching out for me. “Naw, I’m fine”.
I bounce into JR’s. A friendly local gay bar attracting all age groups of mainly straight looking guys. The place is teeming with people. The DC gay uniform is out in force. Buzz cut hair, dark T-shirt, jeans and non descript tennis shoes. Just shoot me now, please. I need another trip to New York.
I wander thru, nod to a few people I know, but don’t linger. I’m looking, but I have no idea for what. I make the rounds and quicky emerge back out into the warm summer night air. Disgusted. This isn’t a scene for me.
I guess my gay training wheels are coming off now. I’m going to step up the game. I want to talk to someone who is interesting and not have to scream over a Madonna club remix at some guy with a triple digit income and a double digit IQ. It’s just not interesting to me anymore.