Memo: I’m not gay

by RAF KATIGBAK

An open message to the guy who just exposed himself to me in the locker room:

Hi there. How are you? By the looks of your rock-hard erection, I assume pretty good. I must admit I was a bit surprised when I felt a tap on my shoulder after my post-workout shower. But not as surprised when I wheeled around to see you, towel-open, eyebrows raised expectantly, and shrimp boat at full mast.

This caught me off guard. I had come into the locker room to dry my hair and collect my things, not to see your throbbing member. And yes, while I have to say that your penis is impressively large (objectively speaking), I’m not sure what you assume will happen next. Do you expect me to satisfy you orally? Some kind of hand release? Or were you going to offer up your taut behind, pausing for a moment to lock the steely blue of your eyes on mine as we get lost in the sinful impermanence of the moment, then, animalistically thrusting to climax, we finally collapse in a panting heap of sweat, muscle, testosterone and post-coital bliss as I softly kiss your ear and nuzzle up in a sweet, wordless embrace? Well, I hate to break it to you, friend: I’m not gay.

I’m not sure how you even got the idea that I might be gay. Sure I like watching Sex and the City, but so do lots of straight males, and there’s no way you could have known that I own the DVD box set of the entire series anyway. While I do pride myself in keeping a tidy appearance, I would hardly consider the way that I brush each side of my hair 125 times with a specially imported Danish oak and horse hair brush “preening.” So I have an intricate shaving ritual that involves walnut shell exfoliant, avocado shave gel and lightly scented cucumber moisturizer. Does that mean I’m gay? I don’t think so. Maybe it’s the eyebrow plucking.

Or maybe it is my fault. I didn’t mean to mislead you. When I smiled at you in the weight room, I was just being friendly. And when I asked you to spot me because I needed a “big strong man to watch over me,” it was only because I had never used that much weight at the bench press before. Come to think of it, when I asked you, I probably shouldn’t have said, “I’ve never gone this far with any guy before” and then winked at you. But I was talking about the weights!

I suppose later, when I asked you to rub me down in the sauna with the special scented oils I brought, I probably shouldn’t have asked you to pay extra special attention to my inner thighs and glutes. But come on, I just really overdid it on the squat machine! Is it my fault you have a wildly gay imagination Mr. Rubs-Too-Hard?

It’s not like I can’t appreciate the appearance of another man. Like any straight guy secure in his heterosexuality, I’m comfortable saying when another man is attractive. For example, if one of my many girlfriends at a bar asks if I think another male is cute, I say, “Sure” or “Yeah, he’s hot” or “I would not refuse if that man offered to service me with oral sex in the bathroom in the next 15 minutes.” See? I’m secure with my straightness. I can say that.

I even consider myself a man’s man. I enjoy watching sports like football, hockey and boxing. Sometimes I watch figure skating, but only in the hopes that I’ll see a spectacular wipe-out...and for the costumes. I like fast cars and loose women and dangerous things like guns and motorcycles. In fact, like any straight male, I also have daytime fantasies of riding on a motorcycle with Gael García Bernal, clutching his sweaty torso, aching to feel his heartbeat through his weathered wife beater and smelling the intoxicating musk of his hair as we ride into the desert leaving the crazy world that could never understand our feelings behind—but what super-straight guy doesn’t? That doesn’t make me gay.

Can’t I just relax in the locker room and enjoy the company of my fellow men in the spirit of hetero masculine camaraderie? Heck, it’s not my problem if it turns into a massage circle of writhing naked pectorals and limbs (I just brought the poppers and GHB, I didn’t force anyone to take them). Is it a crime to have a good old fashion bro-down, with lube? Jeez!

If having random sexual encounters with other men in public restrooms makes me gay, then I don’t know what this world is coming to.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca