A New Years To Forget

A couple weeks ago I wrote a post lampooning the Gay Games. It was all intended to be in good fun. I (predictably) received no comments on it, but one person told me that it was a little harsh. I am not here to be PC, hold my tongue, or give a crap about others opinions. I am only here to be myself, inform, split sides, bust guts, and make people say "What the fuck?" WTF being, "I never thought about that before" or "Oh my god, this guy is a fucking retard!"

Needless to say, that post about the Gay Games may have been out of bounds (like Lance Armstrong's joke about the Brokeback guy at the ESPYs), but it is all in good fun. One of my favorite sayings is that you have to "Separate the stuff from the stuff." (From the second greatest short-lived sitcom ever, Sports Night)

With that in mind, let me take you back a few years, to Dec. 31st. I was at least 21 at the time, in fact, I think it was my Senior year of college, my first New Years after turning 21 (I am not sure though, it may have been after I graduated, but I don't think so).

Since I lacked friends in my hometown (X-mas break remember) at the time, I called on an old friend to see what he was doing for New Year's. He told me that his girlfriend and him were going into the city to hang out with "Todd" and his friends. I know Todd, I like Todd, and faced with the alternative of sitting in the dark watching the shitty fireworks on Channel Five, I agreed to go into the city to hang out with Todd and his friends.

All told, it was a pretty small gathering. There was my friend and his girlfriend, Todd, Todd's brother (Rod), three other guys, and Todd's new boyfriend. Oh, and the three guys were gay too. Thankfully, they all loved to drink, except for my friend's girlfriend. We spent the early evening sucking down beers (and nothing else) making small talk, and having a pretty good time.

Good time meaning that I got hammered. I do not remember much of what happened while we were at Todd's apartment (in Wrigleyville a.k.a. Boystown, of course), but I do remember that I had an odd conversation with the girlfriend. She was straight as an arrow (like, no drugs, booze, cigarettes, etc) and I proclaimed to her my desire to go shrooming.

Some background. I did not drink until my freshman year of college. Also, my freshman year I was in the hallway of the dorm with an acquaintance, when a funky smell permeated the air, and I asked him, "What is that smell?" He replied, "Pot" with a skeptical look on his face. I did not smoke marijuana until my sophomore year in college, and in total, I probably smoked it no more than ten times in my life. Hell, I did not even smoke my first cigarette until I was 19. Needless to say, I pretty much follow the straight and narrow path too. I have never done any drug harder than pot (is that even hard?) and really never intend to. But I was drunk, and when I try to make conversation with a shy girl I find that when you say something completely absurd it is either hit or miss. It will engage her or completely turn her off. Considering this was my friend's girlfriend, and I follow the rules, she had nothing to gain by brushing me off, and so I went into a lengthy explanation of why it would be fun to do a hallucinogen, but not a really bad hallucinogen like LSD.

So while I was espousing my [fake] desire to go shrooming, the rest of the room was planning the "where do we go from here." The others came to a consensus that we should go to a bar (at some point we cheered the New Year, but personally, I do not really care about that retarded holiday). Todd asked me if I wanted to come along, and I readily agreed. My friend was tired or some bullshit, and was going to crash with his girlfriend at Todd's place.

So, around 12:30 a.m. on the first day of 2003, I headed with six other guys to try to find some action. Unfortunately, it was not the type of action that I am into. Other than myself, the party included Todd, Todd's boyfriend, Rod, and three other guys. At the time, Rod and I were the only straight ones. Rod is an interesting character himself, a guy who lost his virginity to a Mexican hooker, and who would two years after this incident, confirm what we all knew, that he was a homosexual.

I am not here to debate if homosexuality is something you are born with, or a result of societal influence. All I know, is that Rod and Todd's dad is a pretty cool guy. I once went to a Cubs game with him, and had a gay ole time (like the Flintstones) and afterwards we went to the Cubby Bear, and the old man wanted to mack on all the young hot chicks. But who knows, it could have been the divorce, or they were born with the gay gene.

Anyway, the crew went out, 2 hetero's (at the time) and five gays. Take a guess where we went. We jumped on the "L" and headed to a nightclub called "Berlin." My party tried to assure me that it was a cool place for people like me, but once we walked in, I realized I had been had.

It was an experience like none other. There were guys all over, and a lot of them were dancing with their shirt off. The house music was at full volume, and there was men as far as the eye could see. My "friends" first act upon entering the bar was to head to the coatroom, leaving me alone in this bastion of debauchery.

Instinct took over, and I headed straight to the bar. If I learned anything in my three and half years of college it was this, "When in doubt, Drink." So drink I did. I was already pretty hammered, but the 20 minute "L" ride gave my liver enough time to clear some space for more alcohol in my blood.

This was probably the only time in my life that I thanked God that I was not an attractive man. I was able to make it to the bar without anyone offering to buy me a drink. After I placed my order, Bud Light of course (surprising that they had it), I scanned the bar looking for anyone that did not have something hanging between their legs. I saw none. I took my beer and retreated to the darkest corner of the bar, anxiously awaiting my "friends" return from the coatroom.

I spied them, 20 minutes later, acting quite giddy. "Where the fuck were you?" I screamed. "Sorry, long line," Todd answered. Yeah right, for the bathroom. Surrounded by people who would not try to cornhole me, I felt a little safer. I mean, no guy approaches a group of girls and guys to hit on the girls. That would just be stupid.

But I made a horrible mistake. As closing time was nearing, I saw someone that looked that familiar. Like a guy I had gone to high school with. Within the protection of my group, I dropped my guard a bit, and when I was staring at this kid, trying to figure out if I knew him, he made eye contact with me. Just as if this would have happened with a female, I quickly looked away, but could feel his eyes boring a hole in me. They say you should not stare at the sun, but sometimes you just have to check to see if it is really a bad idea.

So I gave him a quick glance, and he smiled. There is something addicting about a smile. I have only experienced this first hand, I have never caused it to happen. When I smile at a girl, they invariably, never smile back. But when someone smiles at me, I cannot help myself. The corners of my mouth creep up ever so slightly, and that is all it takes in a gay bar.

Then, the voice of God proclaimed, "LAST CALL!" I bobbed and weaved my way back to the bar. $20 in hand, I called to the shirtless bartender, "Jack and Coke, light on the Coke!" He was probably expecting that I was trying to gain courage to lose my anal virginity that night, though I had no such designs, and he gave me a double shot, and did not charge me extra. Drink in hand, I headed back to my crew, hoping to have thrown my new "friend" off the path.

My drink was nearly gone before I got back to them. I walked into the middle of a conversation, of which I heard, "Hell yeah, we need some goddamn food." Recently reunited with my group, I threw in my two cents, "Yes, I need some fucking food. I want PANCAKES!"

Maybe I should not have screamed that. But they all agreed, and after I finished my drink two seconds later, we were heading towards the door. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. The bar was closed. Among the throng heading towards the door was my new friend, who was not really a friend at all.

He followed us out of the bar, a calculating two steps behind. I hung close to my friends, in a "Hey look, I am gay with them" manner. But my new friend only had eyes for me. He was watching me. Staying one step behind. And when we entered the morning darkness on the first day of 2004 around 3 a.m., he put his hand on the small of my back and said, "How are you?"

I panicked, I fled, I tried to get away from there as soon as possible. I fled back to my gay friends. And they protected me. Todd, though drunk, had the wherewithal to assess the situation, and understand what was going on. That may have been the only time in my life I did not mind another man touching me.

We headed out, got on the "L", headed to some breakfast place (waited 20 minutes at 4 a.m. WTF), loaded up on a greasy breakfast, headed back to Todd's, and (I at least) passed the fuck out.

In all honesty, this was a great experience for me. I do not regret it. In fact, maybe every straight guy should go to a gay bar at some point in his early 20's. Just to know what it is like.

[Note: There are a lot of things I could have talked about, but Tucker Max also had an experience going to a gay bar in Chicago, and he writes better than I do, so you can read his account here (it really starts with Part 2). His story is one of the reasons I was reluctant to write this, but que sera, sera right. Also, there are some other stories with Todd, so stay tuned, I may write them up.]