An open letter to straight people I meet at straight bars. (Author
I am not a celebrity, a landmark, nor an abnormally large fish. I am a man. Please don’t take souvenir snapshots
of your husband with his arm around me batting his eyelashes like a silent-screen actress. It’s offensive. And I’m
I am not bisexual. Please don’t assume that your kink is my kink. Great. Your husband likes guys on occasion.
And you like watching your husband liking guys on occasion. If I wanted some hoo-hoo, though, I’d cut out the
middle man and go straight for the snatch. And, BTW, if I were into cooch, what, in God’s name, makes you think
that I’d be attracted to you anyway? There’s a reason why your husband likes the occasional cock.
I am not mentally ill (at least not in terms of my homosexuality). Nor am I a shrink. “Why do you think gay men
have an abnormally close relationship with their mothers?” I don’t know. I talk to my dad more often than my mom.
Why don’t you ask your mom? You live with her.
I am not a drag queen. “Why do guys want to dress up like girls?” I am asked. I don’t know. Why does Toby Keith
dress like Yosemite Sam? Drag is drag. Gay is gay. Sometimes the twain meet.
I am not a transexual. I do not know why some men/women choose to lose/gain sexual organs and identities. For
the most part, I like my dick and my gender: so much so, enjoy sleeping with men with dicks. I can, however, refer
you to the Internet for further reading/viewing.
I am not a pedophile. When, out of common courtesy, I ask about your son, please don’t reply: “He’s straight.”
That’s like someone asking me how my grandmother is doing and replying: “Well, her twat might be a little dry, so I
highly recommend lube.” Besides, do you really think that if I were interested in your 16-year-old son, I would be
asking YOU about him? “So, what’s he look like in the shower? Bet those pubes are coming in real nice. You really
should hook us up.”
I am not a gloryhole. Just because you have a 9-inch cock, doesn’t mean I want your dick in my hole. I wouldn’t
want it in me if you were gay; what makes you think I’d want it in me if you are straight? While I must confess to
falling prey to the allure of a cute, straight daddy from time to time, being straight does not automatically make
you appealing. Nor does my being gay automatically make me the bottom. Ask your buddy, Mike.
I am not your Scout buddy. Whatever you and your pubescent friends experimented with when you were 13 is between
the two or three of you. Please don’t try reliving it with an adult gay man. I don’t want to go camping with you
(while your wife is visiting friends in Portland); I don’t want to come over and play (Wii, Nintendo, whatever)
while she is at work; I don’t want you to jerk me off in the bathroom (we might lose the pool table; and, besides,
I can jerk myself off, thanks); and I don’t want you to come over to watch the game, get so drunk that you pretend
to pass out, then (while I’m in the bathroom) slip in some porn. You wanna fuck? Be a man. Ask. If I’m into you,
rock and roll.
Nor am I your ego booster. Bend over. Whip it out. Drop to your knees. Whatever. But STOP flirting! Jesus. If
you are straight, then go, boy, go. If you just want to play with another guy for the night, again, ask me and
we’ll see. I agree. Those hot little girls are idiots for not sleeping with you. Yes, you are good looking. Yes,
you do have a great ass. Yes, you are smarter and more interesting than your average Joe. But for fuck’s sake, stop
teasing me. Don’t stand behind me rubbing your cock up against me while I’m shooting pool (“I’m just fucking with
you, dude”). Don’t pinch my ass while I’m trying to break. Don’t use your pool cue to scratch your balls.
Otherwise, don’t be surprised one night when I appear from your backseat, pull you back there with me, and grudge
fuck the shit out of your straight ass. Walking home? Watch the alleys.
I am not omnipresent. No. I do not know your 70-year-old gay uncle from Hot Springs, Arkansas. No. I never met
Liberace. Yes, I did go to a George Michael concert once. No, I do not know if he’s a good kisser, I sat in the
I am not a fashion designer. But, yes, your ass does look fat in those jeans.
I am not into Appletinis. I like Bourbon. Straight.
I am not butch. Telling someone that they don’t “act gay” is not a compliment, folks. Being “butch” is not a
noble attribute. Nor is femininity a negative attribute. How would you like it if I came up to your husband and
said: “Wow! You don’t act straight. Are you sure you don’t like cock? You just don’t seem like the pussy-eating
kind of guy.”
I am not handicapped. The reason I play shitty pool is because I just started playing the game 6 months ago, not
because I’m gay. But, guys, when I do beat you, please don’t get pissed off and start making excuses. It’s OK to
get beat by a Mo. It’s not as bad as getting beat by a chick.
I am not a urinal hound. Guys, you don’t have to go in the stall to piss, you can use one of the 4 or 5 open
urinals next to me. I go in the restroom to relieve me bladder, not to sneak a peak at your package. And, too, you
don’t have to publicly exhibit your masculinity by slamming your fist on the (door, paper dispenser, toilet handle,
wall, etc.) after you pee. I got it. You are straight. Might as well beat your chest and leave the poor facilities
alone. They didn’t challenge your sexuality.
In summary: I’m a decent guy. Hi.
Editors Note: We came across this in an online public forum. It needs to be shared as a cleverly
written expose’ of some of the myths, prejudices and stereotypes about gay men among some members of the straight
community. We at 99Gay-Men.us can’t take credit for this wonderful writing. The language is a bit more
“adult” than we usually publish here, but we thought that this piece would lose too much of its punch if censored
or edited in any way. This guy deserves to have his say, for he speaks for many of us.