Show me the most beautiful woman on earth
and I’ll show you a guy who is sick to death of putting up wiht her shit.
I have a co-worker who really is in this situation, and it amuses me no end. And then I think to myself: This is why there are gay people.
No, really, hear me out: Men feel one way about sex, women another. The interface between the way men feel about sex and the way women do, is like the matter/antimatter interface on a warp drive. At any moment, if the perfect balance isn’t maintained, you have an explosion.
So I can easily see guys saying “You know? I’m sick to fucking death of this. I want sex, I want it all the time, I don’t want to haveto have a conversation to get it, I just want to get off and then see what’s on channel 9.” Likewise women can be involved with women who have similar drives and motives. So for gay women there’s the discovery phase, the going out to dinner phase, the holding hands and walking together on moonlit beaches phase, the text messaging phase, the getting acquainted with our feelings phase, the lawnmowing phase, the renting a small apartment together phase. And finally the ladies get together in well decorated bedrooms and talk for six months before they actually get to the point where they’re rubbing up against one another.
And men meet strangers in public crappers, smoke a little dick, and move on.
It’s another interesting corolary that the gay men decorated the bedroom while the gay women were probably the architects that designed the public crapper.
JOKE, people, it’s a JOKE. Jesus Christ. Cut me some slack.
Sorry bud, but it doesn’t pan out.
A real fag is all about cuddling, before and after.
At least, that what I read on the bathroom stall wall during a wide stance exercise I was engaged in with a couple of senators and a page.
Boondock Saints. A hoot of a movie, and one of the major protagonists is a toot who thinks other gays who want to snuggle afterwards are fags.
At the time Significant Other and I were walking up Commerce St. in Provincetown last summer, all the way out to the Coast Guard station. Far beyond the usual tourist area, through the gay boarding houses.
I thought at first the hooting catcalls and challenges from one batch of the AIDs Brigade to other units on nearby porches were an act put on to amuse/annoy the two obvious “breeders” in their midst, but it went on long after we’ed passed.
Total promiscuity, one after another until the equiptment wore out, then booze and a nap and right back into the “game”.
Gays are men with a kinky interest in other men, but with the same physical urgency as straight guys, and all the willing partners in the world. Add in the “macho” risk (near certainty) of AIDS and it becomes combat, with all it’s wonderful risks and shared camraderie.
Most of the lesbians I know are paired off in a domestic relationship. Sad, but a relationship.
I say sad because I suspect none of us really grow up until we do the give and take thing with a reasonably functional member of the opposite sex and make a stable partnership that meets somewhere in the middle.
Although I will concede it’s easier to do with a tomboy. I may get lucky and find one yet.
“JOKE, people, it’s a JOKE. ”
Uh huh, yea Og… ;)
This started out as one of those vivid dreams, didn’t it?
Several years ago Jody and I, in bathing suits, were walking from the beach to our house with the coonhound on a leash. There was a house under construction and all of the hard hats were sitting on the unfinished top floor having lunch. There were stares and then cat-calls. Man, look at the size of those ……. EARS. I laughed till I cried, Jody flipped em off.