How Not To Hit On A Straight Guy

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Note: Pretend you’re listening to Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky” as you read. Or actually play it in the background.

I despise when gay chaps hit on straight men and try to “turn them out.” In my defense, I could have sworn this gent I met at a party was gay, though he denied it. I guess he thought, “we’ve come too far to give out who we are.”

He was also a closeted hipster who wore tight-fitting clothes and whose glasses were as affected as his interest in women. Or so I thought. In short, he was a handsome, classy fellow who knew how to dress well. Can you blame me for thinking he was gay?

I was determined to find out if this fellow was gay by the end of the night. Thinking “I’m up all night to get lucky,” I spent a lot of time talking to him, throwing out signs I was interested. Eye contact, a gentle touch as I talked into his ear, proximity, the whole nine.

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to reject my approach but welcome it. Perhaps I’m just too self-absorbed to notice others’ body language. I still got the impression “[He’s] up for good fun.” Nothing serious was gonna happen.

As the night went on we started dancing one on one. That’s right. Two dudes, dancing within inches of one another. Face to face. I could have tried to get even closer but I didn’t want to chance it and ruin our nascent friendship. Posting a blog about the interaction, one that he could possibly read, would take care of that. “What is this I’m feeling?” I wondered. At that point, it became a game. I just had to know!

I told two of my friends who were with me about my interactions with the guy. One agreed that he was definitely gay and the other simply said, “Could be.” At any rate, he bought me a few drinks throughout the night. “Your gift keeps on giving,” I was thinking. This was a point of confusion for me.

It was my last going-away party, as I was leaving LA for Dallas the very next morning. Did he buy me drinks (more than one I should remind you) because he was interested in me? Or was it just because he wanted me to enjoy my last night in LA? Can’t a guy just buy another guy a drink with no feelings involved? Do guys even do that? Why can’t I just have fun on my last night in Southern California? I can’t handle all this uncertainty!

He offered to take me home near the end of the night. Yeah! Though my lady friend (certainly not to be confused with girlfriend) was still at the lounge, I was like, “If you wanna leave I’m with it.” My lady friend would be fine. She knew what the deal was. We walked a few blocks back to his pad downtown, for some reason that escapes me, instead of heading directly to his car. We ended up alone in his tidy, well-decorated loft. The minute we got inside I lied down on his couch and closed my eyes. I’ve seen so many movie scenes like this. Usually the foreplay begins here…or the axe murderer slashes the woman.

But nothing happened. This scene would have made for a horrible movie and gotten like 20% on Rotten Tomatoes. In film school we learn that the plot needs to progress during every scene. I probably would have walked out the theater and demanded a refund for this movie. Not really, but I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. I don’t even know what genre it would fit in. Horror? A foreign film, with subtitles?

There was the opportune moment. “So let’s raise the bar.” I could have gone for it but I didn’t want to be another one of those jerks. Insidious gay men you befriend but who are solely intent on having sex with you. And, naturally, by “you” I mean an attractive heterosexual man. Like Batman and his “no-killing” policy, that’s my self-imposed prohibition. The line I refuse to cross.

I did nothing. We chatted for a bit in his car as he drove me home. Before I got out I gave him a prolonged hug. My third chance. I could have kissed him on the cheek at least, but I was fine just being friends. Again, that might change if he reads this essay.

“We’re up all night to the sun…” is what I’d like to say but I fell asleep shortly after arriving home. What a terrible ending! I want my money back!

It’s all good, though. I’ll rise again “like the legend of the phoenix.” Next time I’ll just flirt with gentlemen I know are gay and save myself the trouble. That was a fun little misadventure, at any rate.

The morale of the story is I need to return my faulty gaydar for a refund. You metrosexuals confuse the hell out of me. TC Mark

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