Some gays are like butterflies (watch out for Mariah fans). They all start out feeling like worms, and then they binge on food to help them deal with it. After a while, they just disappear. Their numbers can't be reached, no email, hell, they even boycott your birthday. This is the cocooning period. You can't find them because this period happens only in gyms where they spin silk around them for the most part of their days. After about six months, a new life-form with wings and antenaes steps out of the cocoon. A life of sucking nectar begins.
As I watch Mike flying from one group to the next, I'm amazed at what a butterfly he has become. If this were a B movie, Mariah's Butterfly song would be blasting on surround sound by now.
Enough with butterflies. But what is there to say about a bar? The owners named it Bed, so that they can wear tight tank tops with the line "WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO BED WITH ME?" printed across their chests. Self-promotion has never been this lucrative.
My friend Blue got hit on by this chubby guy wearing a cap. He excused himself and went to a dark corner with the guy where they proceeded to grope each other. Left alone, I felt exposed, that kind of feeling when you're in your undies and being examined by an old lady doctor. I wanted to smoke but I have kicked the habit few years ago.
I ordered another gin and tonic water. "Slow night," I thought to myself, smiling. Then suddenly, a laser light blinded my eyes and a thought hit me: this is what my life had become, pushing thirty, getting wasted, and hoping to get fucked. This was nothing short of an epiphany, like what happened to Paul on the road to Damascus set to chill out music.
Am I doomed to this lifestyle? Even if I find the right guy, will it last longer this time? After four relationships, am I any wiser?