Okay BWW, can we take our friendship to another level? So tonight, I went to a bar, started talking to a guy that was attractive but clearly straight (or so I thought), we started talking about the Superbowl, Olympics, etc. I am gay, but consider myself to be quite masculine. Long story short we kept talking, ended up at my place. He didn't want to kiss (which is cool I don't care) but then when he reached his...um...peak...he was done. Like "Okay, good to meet you I'm leaving". Is that normal for the "straight but gay" guys to feel "guilty" when it's done?
Updated On: 2/4/14 at 11:33 PM
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
This video of a speech by Irish performer Panti Bliss at the Abbey Theatre is making the rounds. I saw it yesterday and it made me mad at myself, for checking myself in similar ways as described in the speech. So mad that I had to take time to compose myself after viewing it. And then news surfaced today about an 11 year old boy bullied for being a My Little Pony fan (as am I) who attempted to hang himself and may be brain damaged as a result. And it's all about passing and "straight"ness, isn't it?
Panti's Noble Call
Broadway Legend Joined: 9/16/07
When I was living in Chicago circa 2006, I was waiting for a bus one evening after getting off work. I was sitting on the bench, minding my own business doing a Sudoku when I suddenly heard out a voice scream "faggot." I looked up, of course, because by this point I was in my early 30s and had gotten used to the fact that if someone nearby was muttering about faggots or doing mocking swishy movements or whatever other horrible thing, it was pretty safe to assume it was directed at me.
They were probably early 20s, in a convertible. And just as I looked up the light changed and they sped away, laughing at what they'd done. And what they'd done was make a grown man - someone older than them - feel like sh*t about who he was. A guy who had no beef with them, who wouldn't have even known they were there if they hadn't felt entitled to call him a faggot.
This was something that people had done to this man his entire life. It was reversed when he was a young boy - back then it was teachers and parents and other authority figures that made it clear that whatever the problem the world had with this boy, it was that boy's fault and no one else's. If you wouldn't act like a goddamn sissy, they wouldn't treat you so bad.
That man - I sat at the bus stop, feeling shaken, mad at myself that after three decades of crap like this, it could still cut me to the core when I least expected. And in a city! Of course, I was once called faggot by car full of kids when I was in San Francisco, so really, what should I have expected? Still, I couldn't even understand what I could have done to provoked it, because as I said, all I was doing was waiting for a bus and doing a Sudoku.
And then at hit me. I was sitting with my legs crossed. Like a fag. And I knew better. I remember the first time I got taunted for sitting that way circa 1983. Boys don't sit like that. You're not a boy! I could have prevented that feeling of dehumanization it would take me days to shake, if I'd only remembered not to cross my f*cking legs like a pansy.
I have had have worked through am working on am aware of how profoundly this stuff has affected my life. I worked through forgiving my parents for not having the tools to understand that it was okay that I wanted to play with dolls, or put a tshirt bun on my head and sing Evita. I forgive the classmates who called me homophobic names from the time I was about 10 until I graduated in high school, including the kids who had me so upset and powerless (who wants to defend the faggot? It was 1991ish after, all) that I would leave the school bus in tears at least three times a week. I was almost 17. I forgive the teachers who saw what was going and ignored it. I forgive the teachers who saw what was going on and encouraged it.
But most of all, I forgive myself. I forgive myself for not having the tools to stand up for myself. I forgive myself for not being able to conceive that someday it actually would be better. I forgive myself for feeling ashamed of even writing about this on this board, because there's still a part of me that feels it's histrionic, that I'm not entitled to the feelings talking about this stuff brings up.
I forgive myself for mocking the other sissy kid in school, if only to get the heat off me for a couple of minutes. I forgive myself for still having to check myself every time I have to speak publicly, remembering years of people laughing every time I opened my mouth.
To misquote Joni Mitchell, "So Many Things I Could Have Done, But F*cking Institutionalized Homophobia Got In My Way."
I know, it's like Paul San Marco without the sexual abuse and the Jewel Box Revue.
Mostly,though, I'm incredulous at how much the world has changed in even twenty years' time. And I remember how there's always someone who has it worse. And I forgive myself for the times when I resent how much it has changed for kids in school now, when all I wanted to do was get through high school with just one day of not hearing myself being attacked or threatened for being someone who performed sexual acts I hadn't even yet performed. Or because I walked funny or talked funny or just wanted to giggle and spin around. Or play the girl's part in the play. I just wish that someone could have told me at 4 or 7 or 14 or 17 that regardless of what anyone told me - even those whose trust and investment in my well-being is supposed to be implicit - that this was not my fault.
Obligatory "I'm a mostly well-adjusted adult now" disclaimer.
Updated On: 2/5/14 at 01:32 AM
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
Phyllis, you have made me cry because I was that boy too. I haven't forgiven those people for what they did to me, I still hurt today but like you I have grown into a level headed adult.
Bullying was horrific and still haunts me and I don't tolerate it when i see someone else being bullied for whatever reason.
Thank you for being brave.
They just played Panti's speech on CBC radio here in Canada. It is pretty great. I admit it really made me think because just a few days back I was out at a sorta chachi sports bar with some friends and brought one of my more flamboyant friends, and honestly caught myself both annoyed that he was acting extra, well, gay (I think partly as he didn't know my other friends and was uncomfortable at first) and then being truly annoyed with myself for even still having thoughts about that.
As to the original poster... Was this a gay bar? I've noticed guys online who definitely do seem to think they're genuinely "straight" and will do anything but kiss which I guess keeps it on some boundary for them. (You know, getting ****ed isn't gay, but a guy's tongue in your mouth is.) While I'm all for guys being more open to exploring their sexuality, coming out as bi, or whatever, in cases like that I just think they're ridiculously in denial and ignore it. Then again many guys who casually hook up and do consider themselves gay wouldn't kiss, and would probably leave as soon as the "event" was over anyway.
YES! I've done that same thing. Been in a social situation with a new group and been (secretly) ashamed of the "loud, flamboyant" gay. I've caught myself when that's happened and tried to be actively aware of that internalized homophobia. Shared that speech after seeing it here and the Facebook comments were very interesting -- a good dozen of my friends instantly said they related to some or all of that speech.
Thank you Phyllis. You remind me that I still need to forgive that nun in my all-boys' high school that pointed out in front of the whole class that I "laughed like a girl," turning a moment of joy into one of extreme shame and pain on a dime. Here's hoping the world is changing.
I think many of us were "that boy."
In June of 2001 I was on line at LaGuardia waiting to rebook our canceled Delta flight to Tampa. Many flights were canceled that morning, the line was long and tempers, particularly mine, were short. Suddenly, I felt myself being pushed, J2 went flying in the opposite direction and the guy behind him actually hit the ground. It was a tiny, elderly woman with brassy blonde hair pushing her way to the head of the line. And the guy at the check in counter actually took her. I was pissed. J2 advised I go outside and walk around until I'd calmed down. I did.
I was outside for about 10 minutes and decided it was time to go back inside. I could see the line had moved about 10 feet. As I was getting into the revolving door, it suddenly revved up and I got caught between the door and the frame. It was the Brassy Blonde, on her way out to compare notes with her friend, who I'll call Connie Cane.
I stepped out of the way and let the bitch go, without saying a word. But just as I get into the door, she turns and pushes her way through, again jamming me between the door and the frame. Now I'm really, really pissed, but I kept my voice even as I said "Ma'am, if you'd like to go inside before me, all you have to do is ask and I'll gladly step aside."
Bitch went crazy, hurling four letter words at me I don't think I'd ever heard before. Her friend, Connie Cane, start shouting at me too, waving her cane for emphasis. All chatter on the curbside baggage check-in line ceased. I remember thinking, "Just get the hell out of here, those bitches are crazy." But as I turned to go back inside, I heard it. I don't know which one of them said it, but the words "You G*ddammned F*cking Faggot!" rang through the air as clear as a bell. I hadn't been called that since high school. And I saw white.
Instinctively I hurled the Venti Iced Mocha I had in my had, hitting Brassy Blonde squarely on the shoulder. The cup bounced off her and landed on Connie Cane, splattering Iced Mocha all over them and their fake Vuitton.
The case was buried. Apparently, 7 people on the curbside baggage check-in gave statements to the police corroborating my version of the events, all of them starting with "He was provoked." My attorney, after reading the police reports, told me no personal injury lawyer would take their case because what they said, in front of witnesses, constitutes a hate crime in New York, and I could sue if I wanted to. I didn't want to, I just wanted to forget it and move on.
And of course I haven't forgotten it; I've dined out on that story for years now. But while I was, at the time, shocked at myself for reacting so violently, I'm also proud of myself for not taking it, either.
Had it been two burly guys saying it to me instead of two old ladies, would I have reacted the same way? I don't know, but given my short fuse, I probably would have. I still have a penchant for saying the wrong thing to the wrong people at the wrong time. As do so many others. Like the ones who call us faggots.
Broadway Legend Joined: 9/10/08
D2, reading your story, I'm also the person who says the wrong thing to the wrong person. My brother states one day it is going to get me shot. But I believe I stand up for myself now, when I couldn't when I was younger. I was the fat, cowardly kid growing up, who always wanted to say something but didn't. Now as an adult, I am 6'3 and muscular. Can I get my ass kicked? Probably.. But at least I am not scared to.
And these reasons are why I carry a tazer.
I very, VERY distinctly remember the morning I started to reclaim myself from all the bullsh*t of growing up. I was walking to work with my best friend and roommate, chatting away like good 20-something gays (this was probably 2000/2001). This hot straight guy walked past us and just as he walked by he muttered 'faggots.'
That word, which hurt me so deeply for so many years, suddenly caused me and my best friend to burst into giggles. For some reason, this was the moment we found it hilarious that someone called us out on the obvious. A few years later, I got called a faggot by some woman on the subway for some perceived slight. I turned to her instantly and said, 'Yeah...I'm a faggot...what's your f*cking point?' And she just kept saying, 'Faggot!' and I kept saying, 'We know that already. If that's all you got, keep walking!' The commuters were...stunned by the display.
Getting called a faggot doesn't hurt me anymore. I am a faggot. I love showtunes...I'm a big queen...I get in trouble at work for speaking 'drag.' And I'm good with all of that. But if I hear someone else get called a faggot, then I get crazed.
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
[Sidebar: could somebody give ArtMan my card?]
The first time Rocky Horror Picture Show played at a theater in my hometown, when we were in high school, my friends and I were excited to go. I had seen it a while back elsewhere and bought the soundtrack when it came out and now it was going to be playing every week near my house.
Around 9pm the night of the first screening I put the soundtrack on for the first time since I bought it and I focussed and taught myself the words to "Science Fiction Double Feature" by 10:30. I had never had such an easy time memorizing something ever, and I had played the Sea Captain in "Carousel" ("The good Lord will take care of him now, ma'am.")
My friends and I (girls and boys) decided we would "dress up" with whatever we had around, which for me meant a vintage tux jacket and plastic top hat and my best female friend's lipstick. I remember the walk into the theater as if it were an out-of-body experience. NEVER had my hips so sashayed, never had my hands made such delicate gestures as we surveyed the surroundings. And NOBODY could believe I knew every word to "Science Fiction/Double Feature" even if I thought the words were "Daner Andrew's sanddunes gave him the runes."
It was as if this space was the VERY first safe space I had ever set foot in. I have no idea if my friends saw anything extraordinary in my behavior or if that was just par for the course. But *I* was aware of my lack of self-censorship.
We went every week, and the showings got some local press, with great photos of me and my friends, and then the crowds grew and the jocks and the lunkheads began showing up and yelling "faggot" at Frank N. Furter and throwing popcorn buckets of water at people during the rain scene and we left before it was over and we didn't come back.
Panti's noble call made me think of how the jocks and the lunkheads (throughout my life) have left this residue that makes me check and shut down the swish.
Ya know...I would never have pegged you for much of a 'checker,' Namo, until I read this:
'I had never had such an easy time memorizing something ever, and I had played the Sea Captain in "Carousel" ("The good Lord will take care of him now, ma'am.")'
How did I not know this part of your biography???? You checked your musical theater past...and I just want to hold you while we listen to the original cast recording of The Most Happy Fella.
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
Since we're sharing war stories:
I wouldn't for a second claim that I have had to experience what a gay man has to go through, but I had never REALLY felt like a target until we were traveling to the US this past September. We were in line at customs in Newark. I was in front and my daughter's pram was between my wife and me. She jokingly asked me if I thought they would fingerprint our 7 month old baby. A British woman, in the next line, standing near me, who was with her own daughter, late teens, turned to my wife and responded, "No, no. (laugh) They wouldn't fingerprint a baby." I laughed and responded, "I don't know. We had to pay for her security clearance! (ESTA)" She looked from me, loaded down with diaper bags and baby essentials, to my wife, carrying all of our documents and then to the baby in the pram. She stiffened and turned to my daughter. Thinking I couldn't hear her, I guess, she stage whispered to her daughter, "Oh my God! That is THEIR baby!" Her daughter said something like, "huh?" She said, "They are dykes! I mean, I don't get it. They both look like girls." Teenager says something I can't hear. Mom says, "Well, I guess it just shows how differently we think." Daughter nods and tries to check us out, at which point she realizes I am giving them both a death stare, so she looks away. The mom finished with, "It's just disgusting and sad. I feel so sorry for that baby. Someone should take it." At that point, teenager elbows mom and gives her a SHUT UP look.
I didn't say a word. I just gripped our luggage until my hands ached. My wife noticed something was wrong, got very concerned and said, "Baby, what is it?" The tears just started rolling. I didn't fill her until we had cleared customs. I saw the bitch inside the terminal, but didn't confront her. I had never felt so angry, sad and very very little in my entire life. If you know me at all, you know how proud I am of my beautiful wife and daughter. My little family is my life. To have someone so blatantly insult us and act as though my child will suffer because of me, was devastating. To not be able stand up for them and myself, made me feel like a failure. The moments I spent wondering what I could have done differently, as to not "out" my family and make us the target of this vile woman's hatred STILL causes me to feel ashamed.
I am still fighting with being apologetic for my life and not being what others expected. I hate it. I am trying, though.
Broadway Legend Joined: 7/22/03
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