It wouldn’t be pride month if my dumbass didn’t hop on here with a few more stories about how I keep leaving women in various compromising positions (sometimes literally AYE). And luckily for all of you queers, I happen to have a couple stories that take place on homosexual holy ground.
And for those of you who have slid your slippery little fingers into my DMs to ask me what “my sign” is. I’m a Sagittarius. My rising and my moon are both in Aquarius. No, I never stood a chance. But you might, so next time just ask me to dinner.
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I Love A Good Gay Bar
Every gay who has ever gayed in Nashville has seen the Promised Land™ of Play Dance Bar. For some, that means taking it in the ass on the dance floor and hoping security doesn’t see you. For others, it means sneaking off to the supply closet with one of the bartenders. And for me, it meant getting a hickey on my tit from a girl that looked like Katy Perry.
That was the night I made a promise to never leave anyone at Play Dance Bar. It’s too magical of a place to be disrespected in that way (and I’m not just saying that because nipple play is a huge kink for me). That place is sacred.
Now, I don’t usually buy into the idea that “promises are made to be broken.” I think it’s a thing that straight men say so they can justify their inability to keep their pixie stick in their pants. But in this case, I had to break my own promise.
One of my favorite people was going through a break up last year. So, like any good wing man, I brought him to the queen capital of Nashville and entertained some bicurious baby dyke while he tried to get in good with her best friend.
I was kind; I was charming. I bought her a drink. I did the bare minimum of everything that was expected of me. But, the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do was kiss her.
And believe me I TRIED. Kissing women is one of my favorite pastimes in the world and sure they can’t all be hot musicians or artists, but usually it doesn’t matter because I really do just love kissing women. But every time I made eye contact with this girl, all I could see was an eye booger hanging on by a thread and lips that were chapped to hell and something that resembled a nose ring but could have just as easily been a stab wound. That shit looked infected.
After the third or fourth time she moved my hair out of my face (with fingers that smelled vaguely of suntan lotion), I pulled away and proudly proclaimed that I was going to go grab us some more drinks.
“Oh, I’ll come with you!” she yelled from behind me as I was already beginning my descent into madness.
“Oh honey no you will not,” I thought as I hopped, skipped, and jumped my way through the Saturday night crowd, onto the back patio, through the Emergency Exit Only doors and out into the darkness.
The only good news from that night was that my pal got to dick down the hot guy on the dance floor. Dude didn’t even need a ride home. Revolutionary.
FUCK ME
Y’all remember that girl I left in a movie theatre? She made me a CD.
Not like a cute mixtape or some really queer-centric playlist on Spotify. I mean she wrote songs about how I’m awful, set them to music, recorded them in her room, and then she MAILED THEM TO ME.
She lives like 20 minutes away and she MAILED THIS TO ME. Bitch didn’t even leave a return address next to her name.
I should probably point out that after leaving her in a movie theatre, I also ran into her at Pride the following year. Pride is THOUSANDS of people. Do you know how hard it is to actually try and physically find an actual friend at one of those things? Yelling, “Can you hear me now?” and “No, not by the tea dance, by the peep show!” over gay disco while glitter gets shot in your face like a queer Verizon man. But then there she was watching me eating an ice cream! I avoided eye contact and hoped for the sweet release of death.
Finding her at Pride led to me matching with her on Bumble again. I couldn’t just NOT swipe right, right? I mean I guess I could have, but I wanted to know if she had swiped right on me again so obviously I had to risk it.
And sure enough, we matched!
It couldn’t have been more than 60 seconds before her name popped up in my inbox with a message that read “oh shit, what’s up?”
I couldn’t. I couldn’t help myself. I tried really really hard to resist the urge but I ended up responding with the only thing I could think of.
“How was the movie?” I asked.
I could have sworn this girl was going to unmatch me for that, block me, REPORT ME, but from there we just agreed to get together for coffee. This was all planned under the guise of “apologizing” but instead of actually apologizing, I made out with her in my car for a long ass time and then I never called her again.
I’m pretty sure this was the catalyst for the aforementioned CD that showed up at my home.
I had every intention to apologize. Honest! And I truly think I got a third of the way through before she cut me off and insisted we just talk about how amazing it is that the universe put us together again.
But I couldn’t do that. I didn’t know I was going to ghost her again until she started talking like that and then my commitment issues and utter disdain for her voice and clammy hands took over and before I knew it, there I was: being an asshole.
For those of you who feel a bit bad for this girl, I encourage you to take solace in the fact that she, like most of the women who have come and gone from my life, is happily in a relationship and seems to be approaching fame on Tik Tok.
So, really, she’s welcome.
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I think that’ll do it this time, y’all. Happy Pride, ladies and lovers. Stay tuned. If you’re lucky, maybe next time I’ll tell the story about how I let someone try and top me for the first time in my life (she tried, she did not succeed) and ended the night (still horny) driving home with a vibrator I had to fish out from the inside of my cervix.
