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Friday, March 11, 2011


I'd love to say that it's only the straight world that gets confused by the combination of my clothes and my body, but that's just not the case. Especially in certain cities, like Los Angeles, I will go to queer clubs and be confused for a dude. Once, I went to a frighteningly packed bar and this gay guy bumped into me, winked, grabbed my crotch, found no guy-junk, and angrily scoffed at me. Sorry?

I went to a bar in Brooklyn a few months ago with two really good friends K and S. My heart stinging from a recent breakup, they decided I should make out with someone. K narrowed in a girl dancing with a very cute twink of a gay guy.

You Have To Dance With Her, I'm Not Taking No For An Answer, K said.

Nervous and awkward, I gradually danced closer and closer to them with K and S by my side. I couldn't believe it, they started inching towards me too. Could this happen? I'm never successful at these kinds of things. But K is the master of dance-floor hook ups and she pushed me even closer and encouraged me.

Be A Man And Just Dance With Her! K said.

Before I knew it, they were both facing me and our knees and arms would graze each other as we danced. K and S faded off into the distance. I looked over at them, my eyes saying: This May Happen. They looked back at me and said with their eyes: Great Job! And then, someone made a move: the guy put his hands around my waist, his leg between mine and smiled at me. I looked at him and saw those familiar words written across his face: I think you are guy.

Do you think I'm a guy?

Aren't you?


And then we danced a little more and I felt good that someone thought I was attractive, even if it was the wrong someone.

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