A-sexy: E is for effeminate
I walk into the bar, take one look at my new online friend and I know he’s gay. There were a few clues. First of all he was too neatly put together in jeans and a pullover over a prestine white shirt. This was after work. I had only just gotten out of my pyjamas and looked scruffier than him. Secondly he was early and had gotten there 15 minutes before we were due to meet and as he walked over my gaydar was saying that this one would be really great for my friend Bob. Bob has balls I don’t. Yes he was drinking a pint but that doesn’t mean anything does it? Not in a pub.
As we sat down he told me that he loved to shop and travel gesticulating wildly and I at once felt relaxed cos there is nothing more relaxed then hanging out with a gay dude who has no interest in getting into your knickers. My knickers were dry and safe that night. Yes he had a beautiful smile and not an ounce on fat on him but then, body image is a big thing in the gay community.
To be clear, if I do meet a cute gay guy I never say what a waste. Instead I go through my gay rolodex and consider a potential hook up. I don’t see why us straight girls need to have all the fun right?
At some point he made a comment about finding it really hard to talk to women. I figured that was because he was more comfortable around men. And then he said he hadn’t been in a relationship for 8 years and that was despite cooking, cleaning having his own house and a cat. A cat? Come on! Even I knew that cat’s weren’t the look. You needed a dog so that you could go cottaging on a heath or common. Yes, despite not having a television I too had seen the Channel 4 programmes.
I left to go check on why a jug of woo woo was taking so long when a dance off started between my new gay friend and some other guys. Round after round they danced off to Michael Jackson songs. And then Jermaine Stewart came on and….he didn’t know it? Another disco song….still nothing…this didn’t look right, where was the cheesy disco sing-a-long I was expecting? Instead we had a heavily testosterone fuelled dance off.
And so on the way home when he made another pointed comment about women I told him that I thought he was gay. He said that a lot of people thought that and he wasn’t sure why ( I didn’t tell him that his extended shopping knowledge wasn’t the norm and a tad scary) but that he didn’t get gay people. And then yes my precious he said “I don’t mind gay people but they mustn’t come on to me with that shit” Huh? Who was this guy!
Then he gave me the look. I know that look! That’s the look of a man who potentially sees the chance of last minute play with a woo woo drunken chick. But no, I had spent the whole night thinking he was effeminate and couldn’t imagine that despite the energetic dance moves we would find a one night stand rhythm. Besides he lived in some deep part of South London. I didn’t think my oyster card would cope.
I changed the subject and smiled too brightly til we reached his stop. I guess my gaydar really isn’t made for the metrosexual era. Mr Effeminate was just another example of the diversity that is man. Or maybe, just maybe I just didn’t fancy him.
And I learned that I shouldn’t let first impressions be my guide. Nothing about him screamed cat owner from deep South London either!
© Chelsea Black