I’m Not Gay!!!

WARNING: The following contains language and content that may be offensive to some. It is also very long. Read at your own discretion.

It’s been a while since this has happened, but last week, in a span of less than 24 hours, three women told me they thought I was gay. Now, before I go any further and really get into what’s on my mind, let me state for the record that I don’t have any problems with homosexuality. I’m from the live-and-let-live-different-strokes-for-different folks school of thinking, and some of my oldest and best friends are gay. But the fact of the matter is that I’m not gay, never have been gay, and, for reasons I will explain later, it tends to get under my skin when people think I am.

When I was younger—and by younger I mean back before I hit puberty—there were occasions when I was mistaken for being a girl. The problem as I see it (and this is in all humility) is that I’ve always been a pretty motherfucker, and in my youth I had a bit of a babyface. Even still, I could never figure out how anyone could be so stupid (or perhaps just plain so unobservant) as to think I was a girl, but it happened. In fact it happened all the way until my junior year in high school, when I was finally able to grow enough facial hair that anyone who was retarded enough to think I was a girl would have had to assume I had some sort of hormone problem, because I had a beard.

As if people thinking I was a girl wasn’t bad enough, there were a lot of people in high school who thought I was gay as well. For one thing I had been in a few plays in high school, and while the theater department had its share of heteros, it was really a gathering place for the queers-in-training. Most of the muscle-headed jocks assumed anyone that wasn’t into sports was some sort of fag, even though they were the ones taking showers with other guys. So it wasn’t all that uncommon for me to have some jockstrap to scream at me, “Hey, faggot!” Meanwhile I was busy making time with their girlfriends who were feeling neglected because Joe Sportfuck was more interested in handling balls with other guys.

Anyway, last week I was working a freelance job that required me to be an office, and on the second day, one of the women at the office (we’ll call her Lynn) says, “You’re not gay?!” I’m not sure what sparked her outburst, but it was as much of a question as it was a statement of bewilderment that had a tone of such incredulous disbelief it was palpable. “You’re not gay?!”

Now before we get any further into this rant there is something you all need to know about me. I’m the sort of guy, no matter where I go—grocery store, laundry mat, Taco Bell, funeral—I’m automatically looking for the must fuckable woman in the place. Of course I know that may sound a bit crass, or sexist, or misogynistic, but I’m all of those, and while I frown on the societal objectification of women, in my own hypocritical way it is perfectly acceptable if I objectify a woman, as long as it’s on a purely personal basis. Loosely translated that means that I find it disgusting how society reduces women to sexual objects, even though I do it all the time.

I’m sure many of the women reading this will be upset to learn this dark secret of mine, but when you get right down to it, with the exception of women I’m related to, I’ve probably thought about fornicating with every female that I have ever met in my post-pubescent life. Even the women I’m not sexually attracted to have flittingly crossed my mind, even if it’s in the context of, “Yuck, I would never have sex with her.” That, my dear ladies, is how we men are. It’s no secret. Men think about fucking women. All women. And if a man isn’t thinking about laying pipe with every woman he meets except his mother and sisters, he’s either a liar, or he’s gay. And if he’s gay, he’s thinking about fucking all the men he meets because, once again, that’s how we men are.

So, here I am in the office, rating all the women on the Sex-o-Meter (which is something I will explain some other time), and Lynn gets the highest marks. In a nutshell what that means is that not only did I think about sleeping with her, I determined that having sex with her under just the right circumstances might be something I would like to do. (Again, I will explain the principles and practice of Ideal Circumstance Sex—or ICS—some other time). All that really matters is that of all the women in the office, Lynn was the one that I found most sexually attractive, and would be most likely to pursue in a carnal context. But here she was thinking I’m gay, and that threw me for a loop. So I asked her, “What the fuck makes you think I’m gay?”

Lynn shrugs her shoulders, and then Sharon (not her real name), the woman who hooked me up with the job, tells me that she thought I was gay when we first met, and that it took over a year for her to realize I wasn’t. That was when I lost my mind. And again, in my book there’s nothing wrong with homosexuality, but I’m the most pussy-loving heterosexual man you will ever meet. If Kool Aid made a flavor called Very Vagina that’s all I would drink, because that’s how much I love pussy. I could be in the emergency room with a sucking chest wound from a shotgun blast, and I would still put the moves on the ER nurse if she was fine. I would be spitting up blood, and gasping for air, and my dead grandmother and my cat would be beckoning me into the bright light, and I would still be trying to get some ass. That’s how not gay I am.

So I’m stewing on this for a while, not because there’s anything wrong with being gay, but because I want to know what it is about me that made both of these women think that I preferred fishing for brown trout with some other guy over slopping the taco of some stripper with fake tits. And so the next day I ask Sharon, “What exactly was it about me that made you think I’m gay?” Now, when I asked her this, Alice, another co-worker, was standing right there, and her jaw hits the ground and she says, “You’re not gay?!” with the same sort of stunned wonderment that Lynn had less than 24 hours prior.

Maybe this wouldn’t have been such a problem if it had never happened before, but it has happened enough that it seems to be a problem. About a two years ago I was out with a woman, we’ll call her Cynthia, and she was separated from her husband. It was a typical scenario: they were split up after something like 15 years of marriage, and she, being inept at dating from years of being a trophy wife, didn’t know what to do. Enter David Walker—the only single guy she knew within her sheltered suburban world. We knew each other from years back, and she called me in what quickly was revealed to be a pathetic attempt on her part to validate her womanhood by getting me to want to fuck her. Of course she wanted much more than that, which is why her marriage was in the toilet, but in the here-and-now, a man capable of achieving an erection for her was all she wanted. I say “a man capable of achieving an erection” because she didn’t really want sex, she just wanted to be wanted in a way her husband no longer wanted her, even though she still wanted him. Make sense?

Anyway, me and Cynthia had some mutual friends, and at one point she tells me that she thinks they are gay. Well, I know these guys well enough to know that their love of poontang is rivaled only by my own, and I assured her they were not gay. Then I asked her why she assumed that about them. This is what she said: “Well, they are really smart and into the arts, and great conversationalists…”

That’s when I cut her off. “You’re describing me,” I said.

“Well, I thought you were gay too,” she said.

That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks: this woman’s perception of masculinity was so warped that she assumed any man who was intelligent, articulate and appreciated things like books and art and shit like that was gay. And in that moment, I realized why so many women have thought I was a homo over the years. It’s because I’m well-rounded.

I guarantee you that if I talked about sports or building things, most of the women who have thought I was homosexual would have ended up thinking I was heterosexual. But because I can talk about the books I’ve read, or get into a discussion about poetry, music, or the human condition, there is a whole cross-section of broads who assume I’m queer. And I could maybe understand this assumption if I somehow demonstrated some of the more stereotypical attributes of a gay man, but I have no fashion sense, I don’t groom myself well, and I never talk with a lisp. But I have read books and I know who Monet is and I watch foreign films, so therefore I must like to fuck other men in the ass.

Perhaps this shouldn’t bother me, after all I’ve never really given two shits about what anyone thinks about me. But this speaks of a larger problem. I am, of course, talking about the perceptions, baggage and prejudices we carry around with us. For the sake of this rant, I’m talking about the bullshit some woman carry around with them.

When I was younger, just getting started in the world of dating and chasing pussy, I found myself frequently in relationships that ended because I was “too nice.” Being mistaken for a queer has a bit of a sting to it, but being called “too nice” is a more emasculating kick in the balls than anything else a woman can say or do. The truth of the matter is that whether a chick mistakes me for being gay or says I’m too nice, what I’m dealing with is some broad with no sense of true masculinity and a level of self esteem so low that the only things she can probably cite as being her attributes are her ability to open her legs or coordinate her clothing ensembles.

Here’s what it comes down to: I have never hit a woman, I have never cheated on a woman I am in a relationship with, and I have never told an outright lie (although I have left out parts of the truth). The only things that concern me in all my relationships is that at some point I give her an orgasm, and that when it is over I have not contributed any more to the fucked emotional wreck she was when she stumbled into my life. This somewhat short list of guiding principles and accomplishments may not seem like much, but it puts me head and shoulders above most of the guys who came before me in the lives of nearly ever woman I have dated, fucked, or called my girlfriend. And yet these attributes—as rudimentary as they may be—are, at the end of the day, what has made me “too nice” for the better part of two decades. Think about that. For over twenty years I have been dealing with one variation or another of the “you’re just too nice” speech. And this is from the women who have at the very least dated me, and at the most slept with me. This isn’t accounting for the women who questioned my sexuality because I could give a shit about football, and would rather spend my Sunday reading a book or at a museum.

Now, before some of you really start to get all worked up and say that this is merely a reflection of the women in my life, stop and think about this for one fucking moment. We all know the guys who get perpetually dumped or mistaken for being a fag, just like we all know chicks who would rather date some asshole who uses her as a punching bag and/or sperm receptacle. We could, of course, make the argument that not all women are like that—not all women seem to be more attracted to the bad boys than the good guys. Yes, indeed, we could say that. We can also say that not all shit stinks, because some shit is relatively odorless.

Generally speaking—and as I’ve said before, I love speaking in generalizations—we live in a society with a dangerously warped view of sexuality and gender. And it’s not just how men see women or vice versa, it’s how we all see each other. But the problem insofar as it concerns me—and the only thing that really matters is me—are the women who don’t get me, because they don’t get what a real man is supposed to be. I’m talking about the countless number of women who have been damaged over the years by giving of themselves to men who didn’t deserve what they had to offer, and are now wandering the earth like ticking time bombs of low self esteem just waiting to go off in an explosion of confusion that can’t allow them to understand why a man treating them well is a good thing.

Ladies, what exactly do you want? Do you want a guy who will listen to you, care about you, treat you with respect, eat your pussy until his jaw locks up and bring you chicken soup when your sick? Do you want someone who is articulate, in touch with his emotions, and actually notices that the shoes you’re wearing match the rest of your outfit? Or do you want some guy who takes you for granted, smacks you around but then says he’s sorry and he really loves, takes no interested in what you think or feel and tries to fuck your friends? Do you want the wild boy that you think can be tamed by your magical pussy, even though no other pussy was magical enough to cure his wicked ways?

All of this is my long-winded way of saying that I’m not gay (and I’m not really that much of a nice guy). What I am is a guy who is pushing 40 and who’s starting to wonder if it gets any better. Like everybody else I have my baggage, my skeletons and my prejudices. But I am trying to move forward with my life. I try to make sure that when someone lets me in, I’m not tracking in the shit of my past, which is not odorless, but doesn’t stink nearly as bad as some others.

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4 Responses to “I’m Not Gay!!!”

  1. iowan Says:

    ok bro, i was going back and forth from laughing my ass off and to head nodding at the truths that you eloquently stated. to be quite honest, i think you covered it all. i have a few friends that need to read this to set their shit straight when it comes to setting their priorities in regards to the men that they have chosen so that they can stop calling me in the middle of the night, crying on my shoulder and asking me what went wrong because of their fucked up choices.

    ~iowan

  2. jamiesrich Says:

    I need to send this to all my ex-girlfriends. Including the one who spent much of our dating life trying to convince me I was confused and really was gay. Late in our relationship, she did confess, “Boy, I was wrong. You really like girls a lot.” You think?

  3. audrey Says:

    I’ve heard this rant before! You have my sympathies. This “society with a dangerously warped view of sexuality and gender” is a pain in the ass for women, too.

  4. Chief Scalpum Whiteman Says:

    Wait, Dave’s NOT gay? I always just assumed you were.

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