If men are from Mars, and women are from Venus, then I must be from Jupiter, because I'm having trouble understanding either of them.
Alright, let me explain. I went to a 50/50 straight-gay club called Amerika on Friday night. It was the first time I'd gone to a disco with a significant number of women since, well, since the last time I'd gone to Amerika a couple of months ago. I'd forgotten how aggressive straight Argentine women can be--much more so than their distaff counterparts in every other country I've visited, but pretty much even with their male compatriots.
Throughout the course of the night, a number of women approached me and asked--naturally!--my age (I've already begun to say 40, much to everyone's disbelief, although I don't turn until next May) and--not so naturally!--if I were straight. When I replied that I am not, I actually felt slight pangs of guilt over my sexuality for the first time since I came out to my mother 16 years ago. It was like coming out of the closet all over again. One girl actually sent over her male friend, with whom I ended up hitting it off, because her inquiring mind wanted to know. He and I ended up hanging out the following night, which is a story for a different post. Or not.
Now I realize that I don't necessarily emit powerful queen signals on first impression, but I'm a bit surprised by the lack of functioning gaydar among Argentines. And I can't imagine a beautiful woman anywhere else in the world--and believe me, a few of these Amerikan girls (one was a Katie Holmes dead ringer) made me wish for a second or two that I were bisexual--so boldly coming on to a guy with whom she thought she might actually have a shot. Aren't ladies supposed to play it coy and wait to be approached? Don't they realize that straight guys (and, I'm beginning to believe, gay ones, too!) love the chase almost as much as they love sex?
Apparently, no. If only one of the Katie Holmes lookalike's cute wingmen had been so bold. But I assumed he was straight. I did have some male suitors that night. Unfortunately, the one in whom I was most interested, kept shooting hopeful, suggestive glances my way without saying a word and finally approached me at the community urinal in the men's room just as I was about to go home. I thought that either he's watched too much bad porn, or he's crazy. He would have had better luck with me if he had just walked up to be me outside of the john and planted a big one right on my kisser.
Hey, I'm not griping. Ego boosts are good for the ego. No matter who's doing the boosting. And if you can get a fun date out of it (which I did), why complain? My second one this month. I can't imagine that things with either guy will go anywhere, but stranger things have happened--some of them right here in Buenos Aires.
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