Fond memories of being poked and prodded with questions about my sexuality encompassed much of my adolescence. While not everyone was so quick to question me, I knew most were wondering. You see, growing up in the uber conservative south, most people are hesitant to out themselves.
You went to the restroom while I wait for our change. “That must’ve been tough,” the bartender says as she hands it over. I raise an eyebrow challenging her to explain. She leans over and dramatically whispers, “I know you’re in love with her.”
Each Monday I cash in one of my guilty pleasure chips and watch The Bachelorette. The initial trailer made it pretty clear that at some point in the season Kaitlyn has sex with one of the guys, and it becomes a huge scandal.
My day celebrating LGTB (it’s an alphabet soup of sexuality!) in West Hollywood on June 14th started at a gay producer’s house in the Hollywood Hills. I was invited by a gay friend who’s currently attending the top producing program in the nation.
As I watch things surfacing around transgender issues, I’m just blown away by how poorly we, as a culture, understand gender to the point where transgender people are being killed simply because of who they are.
We make snap judgments on people and throw them into demographics. Being labelled straight protected me from prejudice, encouraging me to conform to it. I locked myself in a closet full of dresses.
Sexually, there is nothing new under the sun.
Some spend obscene amounts of hard-earned cash just to watch nubile hotties bare their bounteous assets in seedy, sweaty, prurient palaces, ironically referred to as “gentlemen’s clubs.” Such is their complete infatuation with the blessed bosom.
I rush to the local drugstore and head straight to the pharmacist. She says, “Happy Thanksgiving!” And I smile. Awkwardly.
It started on a highway in rural Kentucky. We passed an adult superstore in the middle of a cornfield, the kind with a retro name like “The Jewel Box” or “Pure Romance,” I can’t remember which.