It was like a nightmarish game of dodgeball that would air on LOGO.
(I'd like to go on record and say those men are horrible, and the human equivalent of a parfait.) The men here were normal dudes: mostly over 30, and mostly in custody of faces I almost instantly forgot. Have you ever been at a party and realized, with a cold sweat and a shiver of dread, that you were the smartest one in the room?
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"No one here believes I'm a top," I thought to myself while taking the first sip of my second overpriced beer. " he yelled, throwing them to one side of the proverbial gymnasium. I was surprised to see that of the 30-ish men there, only three (including me) were dressed up.
" Convinced I had misheard him, I asked him to repeat that. I know how that scenario usually ends: a rain coat, an axe and "Hip to Be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News blasting from a stereo.
By the end of the night, I had met about 16 different men, and I can tell you that the look of disappointment that flashed on their faces upon seeing me never got old.
I was less than halfway through a night of gay speed dating for "bottoms" and "tops" and had already been asked three times if I was in the right group. You're gayer than Judy Garland's Christmas ornaments. " I eventually "lost" my name tag at some point in the night. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.