Night at the Gay Bar

In a moment of "Fuck it!" I wriggled into the red dress and fishnets for a 2nd time in 2 days. I opted for my knee-length boots instead of the impossible ankle-breakers I wobbled around in at the Burlesque show on Friday night. Destination: the gay bar up in the city that out last date talked about.

I won't deny that minor panic attack that came over me as we circled the block looking for parking. Everyone we saw on the street looked absolutely "Normal" to the point where I was sure I was going to be totally over-dressed. After finding parking and mistaking what looked like the front door under the sign and awning for the entrance, we back-tracked to the door where a group of men were outside smoking and walked in.

The momentary awkwardness between having our ID's checked and the first walk around the bar quickly subsided when I sat down in the same bench & coffee table area as 2 very suburban, almost frumpy looking M/F couples. I saw a bag and jacket on one of the end tables and asked if anyone was sitting there. They gestured that I could sit and My Mr. headed for the bar. Within about 2 minutes an older, very intoxicated Italian man from London was kissing my hand and going on about how gorgeous I was and how much he loved my curves. The bag near where I had sat down belonged to his date- a beautiful young black man with long dreads in a conservative sweater and jeans named Michael. Michael was friendly, warm and easy to talk to despite his date's overly-exuberant state. He reminded me of a co-worker who recently left my job: same field of study in college, talk of family and prayer and the differences between race and "culture."

The Italian Man eventually asked if I was with anyone, and seemed genuinely shocked each time I told him I was here with my husband. (Being so inebriated, there was quite an echo in our exchange.) When My Mr. returned with drinks, The Italian Man only briefly stopped petting my fishnets and made sure there would be no offense taken at his gawking at me, then at his repeated expression of how gorgeous we both were. The Italian Man did say that he had never been with a black man before and that before meeting Michael he considered himself to be a racist. They had plans to see DC the next day and after hugs and kisses goodbye, we went to check out the karaoke room.

One song later, we ventured back to the bar where we met John, a cute ginger graphic designer a couple years younger than me. My Mr. had gone to get a drink and I saw a man flirting with him, reaching over and putting his hand on his back. He returned with a drink and I suggested he go back and get me water. More flirting, and then they looked over and gestured for me to join them at the bar.  There was the usual “What do you do? Have you been here before? Are you from around here?” as well as discussions of identity and labels. John said he had known he was gay all his life and had never been with a woman... while he had his arm around my waist. When I first approached he had expressed his disappointment at My Mr. being here with something so much more beautiful- me. It was only upon learning that he had a boyfriend and they were monogamous did a door close on the possibility of more than casual flirting. John didn’t seem to fully realize this in his inebriated state and went so far as to try to pull My Mr. back into the bathroom with him at one point. That was the only moment that I felt anything other than flattered at the attention we were both getting. In that moment, my claws came out and I only relaxed when My Mr. quickly returned.

The other half of the bar had a dance club area with pulsing lights, fog and lasers that we briefly visited before retreating again to the more relaxed bar area. John had friends there, but spent the rest of the night chatting us up and occasionally goosing My Mr. It really was a test of our own code of ethics to not go too
far with things, and around his 3^rd rum and coke My Mr.’s resolve was quite weak. He confided that I was his conscience and had I not been there the evening would have gone differently. I agreed that if John was single, or ethically non-monogamous I would have been on board with things.

One of the conversations that sticks out in my mind was when John asked me what I thought he “was.” He said he had been known his whole life he was gay and had never been with a woman but he was questioning things. “Am I gay? Am I bi?” To which I reminded him of the salad analogy I’d presented earlier in the evening. “Have you ever eaten a salad? … Did it make you a vegetarian? … So why should sucking cock make a man gay?” John was just on the opposite end of things- a gay man that seemed to be considering the possibility of trying pussy.

Maybe it’s that My Mr. is so hot that a gay man was considering being with a woman in order to be with him. Or maybe it’s that I’m so hot that I could make a gay man rethink his identity. Admittedly, neither of these scenarios does any less for either of our egos.

At the end of the night we exchanged numbers and hugs and My Mr. kissed John on the lips, causing a bit of tension on the way home. John sent a text message a little later saying he was looking forward to getting to know us better and hanging out again. We aren’t sure if we’ll hear back from him again, and if we do, how we will handle the balance of attention being shifted at My Mr. much in the way it was on our very first date exactly a year ago this week. The problem I have with it all is the obvious honesty issues John has. My Mr. and I have both been there and understand, but part of our agreement is that we will not get involved with anyone who is in any kind of dishonest situation. On top of all that, the age difference and the fact that he lives at home but is not “out” to his family just leaves me feeling unsettled.

Either way, the weekend was amazing! I’m so glad I pushed past my own apprehension and into my high heels again. It’s been too long and we need to do it again sooner rather than later.