Through a lens…
Tonight, being bumped around by man after man at Posh, I thought, as I often have lately, about why I find myself more often in gay clubs than in straight bars or clubs. Tonight’s reason was how I get to be both an insider and outsider, just like what sex used to do to me.
One night I’d be pinned up against the bathroom wall being fucked by my short, balding manager from work, and only hours later holed up with my group in the computer lab at school doing some extra-credit programming to maintain my top 10% ranking. I would lead the group, confident in everything about myself, internally feeding off the secret, sordid sex tales I created for myself every night (morning..afternoon…) As the sex tapered, so did the rest of my life. Last summer working in rural Asia I found myself being fucked in some dirty hotel room by some guy. The next day I walked around with an extra bounce in my step like I had just been given a positive appraisal at work. I was walking around with pretend headphones on that kept me slightly separated from my beautiful environment. Separated, and confident. It made me different than everyone around me and somehow that made me capable. I was an insider and an outsider.
Grinding with my friends in Chelsea, wingmaning for them: with them clearly I’m an insider. But clearly I’m an outsider. I can accept as much or as little as I want of my surroundings. And sure, it’s not a secret that I’m not a gay male, but for now it looks like this is the barrier I want to create for myself.
