Calling All Cars
Soon after leaving the gay bar Splash, Richard went into Starbucks on Eighth Avenue and Sixteenth Street. He ordered a tall drip coffee and asked that there be room for milk.
He couldn’t believe how outlandish the gay community was in New York City, especially considering that people still drop off dead every day with flu-like symptoms.
As a homosexual who chose monogamy for most of his life, his new freedom was overwhelming him. Options for fast love were everywhere. There were no strings attached to love making rules in Chelsea.
Everyone was living a simple existence, under a code of conduct that seemed to imply—screw as many as you want and don’t ask questions until God throws your ass in hell.
Richard grabbed a cushy chair next to the window overlooking the busy gay district and watched the girly boys and butch girls run up and down the strip, chasing each other like angels on clouds in heaven.
The gay community’s non-strings attached attitude to the concept of love and sex was really starting to irritate Richard.
“Hey dude, do you party?” asked a skinny blonde sitting next to him in the coffee shop.
“What do you mean, party?—Do you mean to ask, do I take drugs—no, thanks,” replied Richard in his attempt at mocking an effeminate man.
“You don’t have to be so pissy,” responded the somewhat attractive limp-wristed guy, trying to get into Richard’s britches. “If you don’t do drugs, what do you do? I bet you like to cross-dress,” insisted the stranger.
“You know, I never have, although I think I would enjoy putting on a pair of panties for a guy who acts straight,” replied Richard.
“Here’s my card. You should call me, I know some guys who can help you fulfill your fantasy,” replied the blonde surfer dude while sipping on his venti skim no-whip mocha and licking his lips while staring at Richard’s crotch “I work at a bar called Stellas in mid-town, ever been there,” asked the blonde.
“Never heard of it,” said Richard.
“Come by, I’ll give you free drinks and introduce you to some friends,” replied Richard’s new pimp.
He couldn’t believe how outlandish the gay community was in New York City, especially considering that people still drop off dead every day with flu-like symptoms.
As a homosexual who chose monogamy for most of his life, his new freedom was overwhelming him. Options for fast love were everywhere. There were no strings attached to love making rules in Chelsea.
Everyone was living a simple existence, under a code of conduct that seemed to imply—screw as many as you want and don’t ask questions until God throws your ass in hell.
Richard grabbed a cushy chair next to the window overlooking the busy gay district and watched the girly boys and butch girls run up and down the strip, chasing each other like angels on clouds in heaven.
The gay community’s non-strings attached attitude to the concept of love and sex was really starting to irritate Richard.
“Hey dude, do you party?” asked a skinny blonde sitting next to him in the coffee shop.
“What do you mean, party?—Do you mean to ask, do I take drugs—no, thanks,” replied Richard in his attempt at mocking an effeminate man.
“You don’t have to be so pissy,” responded the somewhat attractive limp-wristed guy, trying to get into Richard’s britches. “If you don’t do drugs, what do you do? I bet you like to cross-dress,” insisted the stranger.
“You know, I never have, although I think I would enjoy putting on a pair of panties for a guy who acts straight,” replied Richard.
“Here’s my card. You should call me, I know some guys who can help you fulfill your fantasy,” replied the blonde surfer dude while sipping on his venti skim no-whip mocha and licking his lips while staring at Richard’s crotch “I work at a bar called Stellas in mid-town, ever been there,” asked the blonde.
“Never heard of it,” said Richard.
“Come by, I’ll give you free drinks and introduce you to some friends,” replied Richard’s new pimp.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
1:53 PM
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