I admit it.
I had nothing against gay people (that’s what he said), but coming from New Hampshire you were more likely to see people banging Shetland Ponies than you would seeing two gay people holding hands.
We’re progressive like that.
I’m going to ask my gay readers to be patient as I explain this because way back in the late 80’s we thought all gay people wanted to do was anal rape you or stick things in your bum which, re-reading that now, simply sounds like a quiet night out with Paris Hilton.
So, sometime around 1990 I happened to be in Boston with my wife (then my girlfriend) and my buddy, Eric.
Wife: “My dad said that there’s a gay bar around here.”
Me: “Aaaaand how does your dad know this?”
Wife: “He works around the corner.”
Me: “Ha. I bet he’s totally gay.”
This started an argument where we debated the homosexuality of my wife’s father for, like, 5 minutes in the middle of a Boston street.
Good times. Good times.
But THEN started a debate on whether or not WE should find said gay bar and go into it.
I was young.
I had no idea that you had to consent first.
But Eric was all gung-ho for this for some reason, but now that I think about it we were all standing there and Eric was in a leather jacket with studs and leather boots and a bandanna and really looked like he’d probably fit right the Hell in as a militant homosexual.
Then my wife spotted it.
So the next thing I know we’re standing in front of this place that DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A SIGN but you can hear, like, techno-shit music coming from behind the walls and I’m totally guessing that this is either a hidden gay hangout or may quite possibly be the dungeon in “Silence of the Lambs.”
Then the next thing I know I’m the ONLY ONE LEFT STANDING OUTSIDE because my wife and Eric have BOTH gone in and by the time I decide that taking one in the ass is probably better than getting killed on the streets of Boston the two of those assholes are ALREADY BUYING TICKETS FOR THEMSELVES.
So then FOOM! Eric and my wife disappear inside and leave me standing there in the entrance.
So I buy my ticket.
So I end up seeing my wife and Eric at the bar, already drinking.
Me: “I want to go.”
Wife: “Why? This will be fun.”
Me: “This is not fun. These people want my bum.”
Eric: “I will give you five dollars if you go to the men’s room.”
Me: “Dude. I seriously may end up killing you tonight.”
Eric: “FINE. One beer. We’ll stay for one beer.”
So the deal was one beer.
So I order my one beer…
..and turn towards the dance floor.
That’s when I see him.
The dancing guy.
In the torn zebra tank top and – for some reason – denim cutoff shorts.
..and he sees me seeing him.
It’s was on or around this point that I looked at Eric.
Eric looked at me.
Subway to Boston: $1.75
Dinner in the North End: $70
Tickets to a gay bar: $5
Experiencing homophobia at such a high level that you swear your sphincter has tightened up to the point where it’s beginning to create it’s own gravitational pull: Priceless.
But that was then. This is now.
I know I was probably overreacting a bit.
Just a bit.
But, excuse me if you don’t mind.
This Shetland Pony isn’t going to screw itself.
For more TMI Thursday shenanigans, make sure you check out Lilu at Live it, Love it.
She will blow. Your. Mind.