Come together...

So today was culmination of Toronto's week-long Pride celebrations.

And I was not in attendance. Partly by choice, partly by scheduling conflicts, partly because I had no irresistible offers.

Of the few people who asked what my Pride plans for this year were, most were surprised to hear that I didn't have any. After all, Pride is supposed to be the big gay celebration, where Mo's from all across the region (and even from around the world) descend on the city, clad in booty shorts and skin-tight tank tops. And how does it all make me "feel?" they ask.

Well...sort of awkward. And anxious.

When I attended my first Pride a few years ago, I did so under the wing of the guy I'd been dating that summer. We went out with his friend, he made all the arrangements, and all I had to do was show up and try not to stick out in the crowd.

That sounds sort of ridiculous, since the crowds are largely made up of nearly-naked members of both sexes, clad with leather or spun out of their minds on a handful of different drugs. Since I don't fit into any of those categories, my simple jeans and T-shirt uniform proclaimed me an outsider. It was sort of like Alice falling through the looking glass, waking up in a world very far from my own.

I actually had a blast that weekend. It was fun and pretty meaningful for me, at that point in my life, to have been part of it. But this year, the thought of Pride just reminds me of how I still really have yet to find out how I fit into the gay community.

There's a whole other post I'm writing on that subject, since I find it pretty daunting to tack down the exact definition of 'modern gay', but that's for another time.

When I think about the thousands of horny homos, sweating under the pulsing beats of a club's sound system, complete with live sex show being simulcast on 50 foot screens...I dunno. I'm very torn.

On the one hand, it's like a huge high school party. There's all these people there having a good time, comfortable in their surroundings, confident in their swagger. All the 'cool' kids gathered together, getting drunk and trying to get laid. The sense of belonging.

Of course, in high school, I was definitely not one of the cool kids, and that's transitioned into my current status in the gay world - uncool. You know there's going to be this huge party, and everybody is going to be there, and it's all amazing and shit...but you're not invited.

I want to say that I'm mature enough to not give a shit about it. After all, at it's seediest, Pride is a cesspool of bad decisions, bitterness and thinly guised disgust for anyone who doesn't fit the perfect homo mould. When I think of it that way, I really don't have time or patience for such bullshit. It's ridiculousness on such a huge scale that they even have a fucking parade to cap the weeks festivities off.

No longer is Pride about gay rights, inclusiveness, acceptance. It's about a bunch of hot guys trying to fuck each other and chastising anyone who doesn't fit into their particular clique. And while I don't mind a bit of good-natured debauchery, when you feel like the odd one out it takes all the fun out of it.

And this is where I feel torn. Because as much as I understand that Pride is a rehashing of high school drama, and really isn't the lifestyle that I want to pursue, I still wind up feeling left out of the fun.

I just want to feel like I belong, like I'm not still an outsider, even amongst my own people. All these years later, and I'm still trying to figure out just how I fit into the gay community, where I can befriend some like-minded guys and finally have some fun times in a part of the gay world that I would be comfortable in.

I usually tell myself, "There's always next year." But I've been saying that for a long, long time, and still things have yet to change. I always thought that once I got to university, moved to the city and came out that things would sort themselves out, yet here I am still feeling like a total outsider on the one weekend a year when I should be feeling part of the 'big picture'.

And, alas, the pendulum of my mind swings back and forth between 'this is bullshit' and 'wow I wanna be a semi-cool kid'. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Now that Pride week is over, I'll roll out my excuses for not taking part in any of the events. And I'll probably not feel so wracked with anxious tension about not 'fitting in'. And in another week, it'll all be a distant memory.

But then, there's always next year.

Click click...

The internet is run rampant with sex and porn.

That statement is pretty much an oxymoron, but it’s worth bearing that pretty much anywhere you look, from dating sites to hooking up on Craigslist to all-out porn shoots, there are hundreds of photos of hundreds of guys showing off their bodies.

What I’ve been discovering more and more lately, as I venture guardedly back into the single world, is the staggering number of people who don’t hesitate to post their own pictures of themselves in ‘indiscreet’ situations. Most ‘dating’ (read: hook up) sites profiles have more pictures of a guy’s member or ass than they do of his smiling face.

Hell, half the time the mouth is too busy to smile for the camera.

Sex sells, and if you want to get laid, you better put the goods on display. A few flattering shots of yourself in the raw does wonders for the inbox, or so I’m told.

There are no existing nude photos of me, as far as I know. This is for two reasons:

1. Because I’m wayyy to self-conscious to put my body out there for all to see.

2. I don’t really know there will be no ‘long term’ effects of some candid shots sitting somewhere in the depths of the internet.

When it comes down to it, I don’t have a problem with guys showing off. It’s sexy to see ‘real’ people, couples, whoever, making their own little sex tapes. It offers something that porn – no matter how amateurish it’s production – cannot offer, that glimpse into the ‘uninhibited’ sex lives of real people.

Guys are not only putting up thousands of photos for free that the world is allowed to see, they’re joining ‘Cam’ sites and jerking off for an anonymous customer on the other end of their internet connection.

And again, while it can be all in good fun, what happens in, say, 15 years. How many people have copies of profile photos seen on Dudesnude, Adam4Adam, Manhunt and the like? Will anyone even care by then? Would anyone ever find out?

See, I’m still on the fence about how damaging these ‘pictures/videos’ are. Granted, your political career may suffer if voters see you getting down and dirty with some guy...but are these more scandalous because these politicians have families and are ‘straight’ or because it’s two guys having gay sex?

Add to that the probability that, outside the gay world, people who aren’t looking for gay porn aren’t going to come across your dirty laundry. That’s the theory, anyway. I mean, it’s not like the Times runs a ‘Reader Cock of the Week’ shot in the Sunday insert.

Still, I can’t help but hold off snapping a few cock shots of my own. I have no quibbles about regarding my sexuality, so I don’t necessarily disagree with making some home-made porn. I just can’t help but wonder how many bad things could happen because of those few photos.

I’ll open the floor to comments, because I’m genuinely curious how many of you either have posted or just taken pictures of yourself for the world’s collective enjoyment.

The one sure thing is that younger people, especially younger hyper-sexual gay guys, are not taking a moment to ask the same questions that I have. The number of white, auburn haired Midwestern American teens who make their privates available online is unquestionable. The evidence is all there online, for the world to digest at its leisure.

I just doubt I’ll be joining their ranks anytime soon, even if it means getting passed over for someone else because my profile doesn’t disclose every one of my assets.

EDIT: I've added a poll that I'd love for you to vote on, if the colour is a little hard to read I apologize, my Blogger skills are less than adept...

Meet market...

I'm already a little more than frustrated with being thrust back onto the singles market.

Even though I'm only 24, only very nearly dead in they eyes of the most cutting queers, I feel like I've really outgrown the whole online thing. First it felt like I was practically alone out here. Now I just feel alone.

The internet is a beautiful thing for gays and lesbians. It allows us to freely meet and mingle in a community that does not threaten us. At least, it doesn't threaten us with reproach from the straights, more threatens us with reproach from one another.

I just really feel at a loss, I'm sorry if this post is a bit rambling. I'm not usually overly-emotional about things, but I just feel really crappy tonight.

After unsuccessfully trying to meet some guys in the area, just for the sake of making some new friends, I canvassed Google and found a few more sites that I haven't hit up yet. I did the typical sign-up thing, wrote my little blurb and finally got to work checking out the local population.

And again and again, the population lets me down.

I don't feel like my standards are too high. I just feel like I have standards.

The internet has degenerated into a sex shopping mall. Literally every profile I read was geared towards finding the next fuck. Even the ones with a few interesting words to say ended their profiles with the typical, "But I'm on here to have fun too." Ugh.

Is it so incredibly hard to fathom that we might use the internet to actually make some friends with gays in our neighborhoods? I understand that it allows us the freedom to seek out sex without the scary consequences of bigotry, but why does it have to be used exclusively for the physical purpose?

I guess when I was a few years younger, I didn't notice it as much. I was content with meeting people on the physical level and not really getting stimulated on the mental one. But at this moment in my life I would really treasure meeting some guys 'like me'. I know my tastes are quite outside the norm (not that they're weird, just unpopular) but it feels like I am literally a one-of-a-kind person. Why is there nobody out there that actually wants to have meaningful conversations? Or that isn't a totally self-absorbed asshole? (Of course, writing this makes me a totally self absorbed asshole, but this is a blog, not a conversation.)

I just feel very frustrated and very down about the state of gay affairs. Are we all just meant to fuck one another and then bitch about it to our girlfriends? Is there nobody out there that just wants to make a more meaningful connection with the people around them? Am I destined to be sitting here on a Friday night, surrounded with my books, music and blog to keep me company?

Really, I just want to feel like I have a chance at standing out 'out there'. Because after reviewing the local postings, I just don't see much of anything in common with my fellow homos. I would say I feel sorry for them, but then again, I'm the one in the minority here, and they probably feel sorry for me.

I guess I just haven't yet found the right market to meet the type of person that I'd like to.

Peeking at the outside world...

I forgot how much fuckwittage there is in the cesspool of the online world.

I'm not trying to sound cynical. It's been so long since I've even really looked at any online-profile websites that I'd forgotten how ridiculous and traumatizing it is. Silly old me even thought that - maybe - the world would have gotten nicer during my online absence. Oh brother...

In an attempt to actually meet some people in my general vicinity as well as (possibly) start moving forward and putting some distance between myself and my previous relationship, I re-created a profile on one of the more modest sites. My expectations have been set pretty low both due to geography and 'the nature of the beast' but admittedly I've been surprised at my general lack of success and the dent it leaves in one's ego.

First off, it seems that people come in three groups. One, the smattering of guys that come across as having serious socialization problems. Not exactly great material for friendship. The next are arrogant, cocky and generally sex crazed. It always reads like these guys are just looking for the next lay and basically can't stop talking about how wonderful they are. Again, not the type of guy that I'm really interested in hanging out with.

The final group is the one that exasperates me the most. They're the ones that have the perfect hair, perfect teeth, a killer body, a coverboy that holds a doctorate in neurobiology who also find time to build houses for destitute Guatemalans and volunteer at their local animal shelter.

Yes, yes, yes, I can already hear a certain someone's sage advice: "People bullshit profiles all the time and everybody lies." Don't worry,  I'm not sucked in completely, but damn if I haven't read some appealing profiles. But, of course, I shudder to even think of talking to, let alone meeting, these saints.

On one such occasion I read the profile of a guy in his mid-20's who was a short blond with the most amazing smile I've seen. He's a student, working towards his doctorate, seeking genuine and intelligent conversation with similar guys. His photos paint a picture of a very attractive man with a fabulous social life (and deadly smile). His profile described him as having impeccable taste. His favourite music closely resembles mine, something that barely, barely ever happens. In short, he would be the ideal on-paper friend.

So on a whim I messaged him. I politely asked what he was studying and congratulated him on pursuing his education so far. No innuendo, no sly wording, just a few straight-up friendly lines.

Of course I was thrilled when I got a reply a mere 20 minutes later.

The thrill lasted around two seconds when I realized it was 10 words long. An answer to my question. That was it. No further discussion, no questions pointed back at me. Nothing of any substantial meaning.

I don't really know what I'm doing wrong. I didn't send him five pages of personal info, explaining point by point how much we have in common and how awesome and rare that is. I just sent a friendly note. I think I would have preferred silence instead of the one-line reply.

Over the course of about a month I have never been spontaneously sent a message from anyone. Roughly 20 people have viewed my profile. And it makes me feel pretty worthless and unappealing.

I know I shouldn't let it bother me. I mean, it's the fucking internet, it's pretty much all bullshit, lies and half-truths. But it does play into my (insane) want to be wanted. Nobody is more aware than me that my tastes and interests lie outside the 'norm' of a gay 20-something. I'm not expecting people to be banging down the doors wanting to get to know me. But dammit, I would really like if a couple people showed a vague interest!

Sadly, at this point in my life, there really isn't any other way to meet people except online. Now living in a homophobic community, it's even less likely that I'll run into guys around my age and strike up a friendship. And my one experience with a local boy, as you've already seen, was pretty much a disaster. I have little choice but to put myself on the interweb and hope for the best.

I just wish I didn't feel so damn worthless over something so utterly stupid.

The Big Gay Weekend (Part 2)...

As we stepped inside, our host hugged James, and then myself.

"We go way back," he said casually, throwing on, "but how are you!? Haven't seen you in a while!"

I wasn't surprised at who opened the door...I knew a long time ago that James and our host were friends. He'd never really explained just how close they were, but it seemed that they were quite friendly (but no, not that friendly, you pervs...) Admittedly it was sort of intimidating knowing that our host for the evening was an acquaintance of mine that stretched back a couple years. Hell, I knew him before he came out, but I've never known him well.

I could tell he was a little surprised at the identity of the mysterious Steve that James was now seeing, but he shrugged it off. I'd love to be a fly on the wall after the fact, mind you.

As we stepped inside, James hugged each of his friends and did the introductions. I got a friendly handshake and hello from them all, and generally felt pretty at ease. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, chatting away rapidly with each other. The crowd was mixed; they were all roughly the same age, at at a distance they all looked somewhat similar, though close up you could tell each was a little different than the other. They all had a common denominator in my eyes: I'd probably gladly sleep with them all. They were all, in their way, quite good looking.

Since we had left my place in a hurry, I had forgot to bring a bottle of anything to drink. James had...a 4-pack of some variety of Smirnoff Ice. I shuddered as I drank the sugar-water, then glanced around to notice most of the other guests were drinking something similar. I laughed to myself, thinking how truly campy it was.

I also realized that most of the other guests were just that: a touch on the camp side. Not that there was anything wrong with it at all; they were all fun and cheerful, but I felt almost not gay enough. I mean, we're all homosexuals, but I just felt like I didn't have enough outward gay happening. I'm by no means the straight-jock-gay variety...but when placed in a room of slightly campy gay boys I was afraid I came across as just that.

During the next hour I had a few good conversations and got to know some of the guys a little. We talked about Pride week and what we took in school and the usual get-to-know-you conversations. I also chatted with the few girls who were in attendance, and found everyone to be generally good company.

James, being the lightweight that he is, was quite happy when he finished his second drink...while I was feeling positively nothing. Not in the best interest of the evening ahead, I though, though it would certainly help in keeping me from drinking entirely too much.

Someone sounded the alert and we all prepared to leave. As I was standing in the kitchen dropping off my empty bottle, I had a short conversation with a guy who had just arrived. He complimented me on my glasses and told me I had good taste, to which I complimented him on his really well done highlights. It was really funny to actually get to say such a thing out loud, and we talked about how he usually likes to have them done. It also gave me a little perk up; I wasn't falling flat on my ass, and it seemed that at least one of the boys didn't stop and ask who brought the ugly straight guy to the party.

We all piled into the elevator, James' arms wrapped drunkenly around my body. Someone not-so-subtly asked, "Oh, are they together?" as he moved in and wrapped us both in a hug.

The walk to the club was quick and loud, with everyone practically bouncing with energy. Thanks to some advance tickets, we bypassed the lineup and stepped inside. And there I was, past the threshold. Inside I gazed into a room dimly lit and full of boys. I may have swooned.

Our group had gotten a little split up as we tried to get inside, so James and I headed for the bar and bought an armful of drinks. It was at that moment I realized the interesting situation I was placed in. We were standing in line, with him in front of me and my arms wrapped around him. It was very calming to have someone to hold on to, someone who I was there with, that allowed me to hold him and that made me feel like I wasn't out of place and completely lost. It was also strange, because here I was surrounded with gay boys and had no chance whatsoever to slip into any of their arms.

In retrospect, it was probably for the best that I had someone that devoted their attention to me the entire night. Had I went in just as friends, I would have had to quickly tackle the whole flirt/nod/dance/kiss/etc with complete strangers, something I have no experience with and no idea how to do. But at different points of the night, I would still find myself thinking what it would be like to just go out and play with whomever.

The music throbbed as we danced on the spot, waiting to be served. Suddenly someone caught James' attention, and next thing I was shaking hands with a guy a few feet away, between patrons waiting for drinks. I retracted my hand, only to be introduced to another person, who rolled his eyes back, cocked his head and said something to the effect of, "Well I guess I'm not important to shake hands with." I offered it again, but he declined to shake. I then rolled my own eyes and realized I'd made my first bad impression/unfriendly connection with a bitchy queen.

With energy-drink-vodka-things in hand, we stepped back into the thick of the crowd...or what we thought was the thick of the crowd. One of the group came and took us by the shoulder saying, "This isn't the main room tonight...come with me."

We walked through a corridor, and into a room triple the size of the one we'd just been in, full of lights and fog and hundreds of dancing boys. It was as if the pearly gates had opened and we were presented with nirvana.

Immediately we all plunged into the crowd and music and started to dance. For the next five hours, we danced non stop. I danced mostly with James, but occasionally with one of the other guys or the girls in the group.

For the first time in my life, I danced with a freedom I'd never known. I moved and thrusted and waved like I've never done before, and I loved it. We laughed and grinded , as I watched the crowds around us do the exact same thing. Some were shirtless, others simply made out with each other. They were all mostly around our age, dancing, drinking and groping their way around the room. It was amazing. James and I danced, like everyone else, with enough sexual suggestion to frighten my grandmother to death (and probably my mother too), but it was fun to be able to. It all felt right, a verification of things that have been missing from my life so far.

I don't know when, but one of the girls accidentally knocked my glasses clear off my face. Thankfully I grabbed them as they slid down my chest, and I tucked them into my jeans pocket. Not having them on really didn't effect my vision in the dark and crowded room, and I felt less self-conscious with them off my face. I may not have taken off my shirt, but losing the glasses was liberating all the same.

There were some memorable fun moments, outside of the generally great time. At one point I noticed James making out with one of his friends, who then inched over to me and made out with me, who then pushed us all together and caused a three-way tounging. It was fucking hot.

There were also some moments that reminded me of the positive/negative of being there 'with' someone. While James was a few feet away, dancing with one of the girls, I kept noticing the guy to my left looking vaguely in my direction. He was cute, though not as cute as most of the other guys there. A large part of me wanted to shimmy my way over and start dancing, but I felt obligated to behave myself. We hadn't set out any rules about other guys, and I know it would have just been dancing/a kiss or two, all very innocent...but I still felt gentlemanly enough not to do it directly in front of my date for the night.

My most embarrassing moment came around three quarters of the way through the evening, when we were heading to grab a couple more drinks. James was leading me through the crowd by the hand, when I felt something underfoot. People had been dropping their empties everywhere, and I had just stood directly on one. It started to roll under my foot, and I went down like a ton of bricks onto the floor below. The people around us all looked over, and one yelled out, "Wow, someone better take him home, he's had way too much to drink!"

Being past midnight, and having had a couple drinks by now (though not enough to have caused the fall, thank you), and being mortally embarrassed by the fact I'd just fallen flat on my ass, I rose slowly, and using the gayest voice I could muster, and a fey limp wrist, I shot back, "Ohmigod, I think I've drank too much. Someone take me home?" I didn't wait around long enough to see if anyone laughed.

While I didn't feel drunk by the end of the night, I did feel exhilarated. It was such a great time, the energy of the crowd and the fun of the evening made me feel amazing. Even the next morning, I felt like things were blurry and fuzzy; the lights and the darkness and the dancing all made for a hypnotic effect.

Finally, the music wound down, and the crowd shuffled out. On the street we said our good nights, with a hug from each of the guys, and James and I headed back to my apartment. He wanted to walk back through the Village, so we did en route, to find it as packed as before. People spilled from clubs and bars, and the energy felt the same as before. And also like before, James grabbed for my hand as we made our way through the crowd. While I wasn't super-impressed, I didn't really mind at that point.

A girl staggered by us, smiling serenely. "You're beautiful," she said to me, "and you're beautiful," she said to James. "Happy Pride!"

We finally made it through my apartment door. As I switched on the light, James laughed. "Wow, your back is soaked!" he said, bemused.

I flipped on a light and looked in the mirror. "Eeeew," I said, seeing the dark patch at the base of my back. "That's gross. But doesn't everybody get like that?" I asked.

"Well, not everybody..." he replied.

Great, now I'm the only 21-year-old to sweat out half his body weight when he dances in a boiling hot club for the night. Come on, everyone must wind up this disgusting...right?...

"There's no way I'm sleeping like this," I said, "I'm gross. I've gotta shower."

"Me too," James said.

I went to my room, stripped, and stepped towards the bathroom door. My left hand clicked on the light, and I looked back over my shoulder to see James standing behind me.

"Well?" I said with a grin. "Coming?"

The Big Gay Weekend (Part 1)

Well, I didn't sink...

...but I am just a little tired. Not that I'd admit that to anyone, nor would I admit that my hips were fucking killing me Sunday morning. But let me tell you how I got there...

Saturday I had to work (I got a job a while ago, btw...nothing too special or exciting hence not mentioning it really), and as soon as I was off I jumped in the car, picked up James and we were heading for Toronto. For most of the day I was excited...at that point I was excited and getting a little terrified. I mean, here it comes, in a few hours I'll be kicking off what might be a new chapter in my gay life.

We got to my place, I showered, which naturally led to some naked exploits...by the time we were actually ready to grab dinner it was getting on in time. My heart flipped in the elevator, thinking of what lay just a few minutes away, but by then it was more excitement that fear.

From the moment I stepped onto the street, I could tell things were different. There was an energy, an aura surrounding the area; everyone seemed happy, relaxed and to be having a really good time. As we navigated Wellesley, the crowd thickened and my senses spun. I realized I was surrounded by hundreds of gay guys. It was surreal.

I felt myself flush a little at the whole scene. Everyone was there; tall, short, twink, bear, young and old. It just made you feel great, being surrounded by people of every background who were all getting along and having a great time. Even now I find it difficult to explain just what made it so amazing, but I guess it just felt comfortable. It felt right. It felt like there was no judgement; you were who you were and everyone was invited.

Really, I can't go on about how great it felt to just stand there in the thick of things and smile. We all know we're not the only gay guy in the world, but that night highlighted how many people are there who identify with us, support us and love us.

It was around this moment that I walked directly past an acquaintance of my mom's. I hesitated for a moment, thinking I should wave and say hi, but in a moment of confusion (plus the fact that James was walking ahead of me) made me simply walk past. I don't even think she saw me, in retrospect.

We stood in the middle of the gay village, Church and Wellesley, and reveled in the crowd. True, there were some incredibly drunk lesbians on the balcony above Pizza Pizza, shirtless and dripping some beer on the people below...but that was just a microcosm of the crowd. It really did go from mild to wild. And nobody cared.

One of James' friends and his boyfriend ran into us, and we said our hellos. I felt a touch awkward as the couple stood there, with James' friend petting, leaning on and wrapping himself around his boyfriend, and James and I standing there closely but casually. For a moment I wondered if James expected the same thing, if this is how he wanted us to be. Considering we're not that close yet (or at least I'm not that close yet), I didn't really enjoy the thought of being wrapped up in each other the entire time.

We waved goodbye and continued walking to find a place to get dinner. On the way, we had a brief chat about the whole public mauling thing, and both agreed it's really not our style. James then proceeded to grab my hand and hold it for the rest of the night, "Because we can," as he put it. I went along with it, but my heart wasn't in it...I'll hold hands with my fiancee, not the guy I've been seeing for a few weeks. At least not yet.

I tried to spy any more familiar faces, but didn't catch any. We chose a spot for dinner, sat, and waited for half an hour to be served thanks to the huge crowds. It didn't really matter though, we were both talking and laughing...until drama reared it's head. James' parents decided to give him a call and see what he was up to...which didn't go too well. He's not out to his parents, and had said he was downtown visiting friends from school. Fair enough, but they wanted to know "Why tonight of all nights?"

It got so bad that his parents actually asked him if he was gay, right there, in a phone conversation. He didn't answer, just said that he would see them tomorrow and that he was safe. He was on the verge of tears when he hung up the phone, and the fun took a swift decline. It was a tale of two extremes; there we were enjoying Pride festivities, where everyone reaffirms your equality as a human being, while his semi-homophobe parents were grilling their son about his sexuality and interesting choice of timing a visit to Toronto.

Just before we were about to leave, out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked like an ex of mine walk by. Actually, I noticed his roommate first, because he's really cute, and then the ex behind him. They walked straight past, presumably not noticing me (and since I'd just gotten a message from him a few hours before, I assume he's not not speaking to me).

The walk back to my place was pretty mute. As soon as we were back past the barricades closing off the street, James grabbed my hand again. I gave him a squeeze because I knew he was really upset and literally needed a hand to hold. When we got back to my place, I gave him a big hug, long enough to feel good but short enough to make sure he didn't start to cry. We rifled through my clothes, because I really had no idea what to wear, chose something and started the walk back to his friend's place for the pre-drink.

By now James' spirits were raised, and I felt better too, so we both enjoyed plunging into the throbbing crowds as we headed for his friend's apartment. I had a little heart sputter as we arrived at the door, hoping I'd make a good impression and get on with his friends.

He knocked, and the door swung open. "Hiiiii!" shouted the host, a smile plastered across his face. "Happy Pride!"

The door opened further, and he finally caught sight of me.

"Oh, I didn't know this was the Steve you were talking about..."