To be fair to this poor representation of man and morality, I’ll admit that I’m no saint. I’ve engaged in a few compromising acts over the years – but it’s never been out and about with onlookers. Discretion is all but lost in this troubled world of ours, but sex acts – to me, anyway – should be discreet. I’m no prude, and I’ve had my share of partners, but I keep it indoors. Or, at the very least, behind a bush.
That’s the difference between gay and straight. It’s the sex. Throw up your arms in protest all you want, but it’s the truth. It’s always been the sex. That’s what defines us as homosexuals. It’s not what defines us as individuals, but sex is what defines our sexuality. Unfortunately, some of us take it too far.
Before I was comfortable enough to saunter into a gay bar, I strictly frequented straight bars. They were fun with my friends, but I never felt like I could be myself. And forget about finding a date or a one-night stand. I would have been pulverized for a mere wink. In time, I grew into my skin and accepted my sexuality enough to go to gay bars for nothing more than to appreciate the aura of acceptance. But what do I get when I walk through the doors? Free porno on video screens and burly men in less-than-consuming chaps. Not my idea of a good time.
Don’t mistake me – I’m not saying that this is the standard by which all of us live our lives. But by my observation, there are more self-deprecating acts taking place in gay bars than in straight ones. Maybe that’s just the nature of the game, though. I mean, most females want to be wooed, so straight guys are forced to spend time on the getting-laid ritual. For us, it’s easier. We can skip the formalities, fuck, and call it a night. If straight boys could do the same, they would. But they can’t. And that’s the point.