Ahhhh Stereotypes

It is both liberating and frightening to be a gay man in American society. On the one hand, I live in a society (and place) in which I do not have to fear for my life. On the other, more frightening hand, I often find myself at the receiving end of some sexual conversation of which I want no part. I am speaking of women who, because I am gaaaaayyyy, think it's totally cool to spout off about their bras, menstrual issues, lactation or other such delicate topics. I would also add that not every woman opens her mouth like the explosion of Hoover Dam when she finds out I'm gay. Some women have, what's the word... boundaries.

I consider myself fortunate to hear about this side of a woman's life. Many men have no idea how long a period is. They talk about "bleeding" when it is about "sluffing". Big difference if you ask a woman. But enough menstrual education for now. My point is that because of my sexual orientation, I find myself socially as the "in between" of masculinity and femininity. I don't think it's that simple and I really don't think such a division actually exists. That, however, is for another blog post. Regardless of what I think, women I barely know like to tell me stuff. Stuff that they would probably never tell their husbands/boyfriends. Stuff that god probably doesn't want to know. In fact, I know god doesn't want to hear about it because we kick it old school every Thursday. Y'ever seen god do a keg stand? It's righteous; pun intended.

Anyway, I work across the hall from such a lady. To protect the innocent (from her), I'll just call her "Clarice". Let me first begin with how it always begins with these types of women. Contrary to popular belief, I don't show up on the first day of work with a rainbow pin on my chest, pompoms and too-tight designer jeans. That's the second day of work. It begins because I make no excuses for my relationship. I don't hide Robin or pretend he's my roommate. I call him my partner. That word, "partner", coming from me (who let's be honest sounds a *little* gay) means the dynamite in the dam just went off. The realization is usually followed by the same look - (GASP! A co-patriot! An ally! Someone who wants to hear about my body no matter how gross it gets!). Again, I do not mean to sound callous towards the confidence these women place in me. Then again, sometimes it's just yuck, do you need to tell me about your favorite dildo?

Today Clarice called me across the hall. I would like to note, for reasons that will soon become clear, that this took place right before lunch. In fact, I was about to grab my lunch from the fridge before she called me in. I stepped into her office and she waved me excitedly towards her computer. "Omigod!", she proclaimed while pointing at her monitor, "Look what my friend just sent me!" I timidly stepped in view of the monitor and saw what appeared to be an elderly woman's vagina. The labia were spread and she had not one or two or three or fifteen, but twenty-seven piercings all over her vagina. Don't worry, I didn't try to count grandma's coochie piercings; I knew it was twenty-seven because the title of the pic was ("Lucky 27!"). Oh, did I mention there were dragons tattooed all over her naughty bits? Because there were actually lots of them, twisted together, slithering in between the forest of pubic hair.

The conversation didn't stop there, oh no. After what must have registered on my face as sheer horror/disgust/about-to-puke, she said, "Isn't that CRAZY??" I took a second to swallow the vomit that did make it to my mouth and could only eek out, "That's yuck." She took the initiative to tell me that she had her own piercings, but it was only her "hood" that was pierced and one on her left "lip". Oh, and she has a tattoo close to her vag but couldn't fathom how grandma stood the pain. Her tattoo is only a few inches up from her clam and it's just a simple rose. A rose like a flower. A pierced, pubic hair covered flower. I mumbled something and walked back into my office. I didn't eat my lunch for another 45 minutes.

Now you know. Now you understand what a gay man is open to because people think you'll be cool with anything. Sure, I'm pretty cool with most stuff and I don't shy away from sexual topics. But it's not like I ever went there with Clarice. I have always been professional in the office, never gave an inkling that I was into the macabre (shout out to my man Eric!), but that's where society places me I guess. It's like, sure I can have the liberty to live my life as I want with who I love, but the price is a twenty-seven times pierced dragon tattooed grandma snatch. Bon apetit!