I saw my fireman last night. Well he is not really my fireman, but he is a fireman that I’ve had my eye on for a while. I have chatted to him before and he is hot. And what’s more he has a reputation for being a nice guy too. I watched him snog the face of a guy on the dancefloor, whilst Kylie was playing. He became less of the butch fireman and more of a flamer, but still at least he can dance and doesn’t take himself too seriously. I may be flattering myself but I did get a few looks, I’m hoping, and how horrible is this, that his current beau was just a one night stand.
What is it about the gay scene that makes people become so vacuous and nasty? I can turn down a man just because his lips are too thin or he is too tubby, too tall, too slim, too different or not different enough. And I ask myself why I haven’t had a boyfriend for the last five years!
But here we all are waiting for a man to talk to us. We stand in lines, not talking giving the impression that we would be anywhere but there (although we have probably waited thirty minutes to get in) but all desperate for someone to speak to us, to pick us out of the crowd, to whisk us away. Perhaps that’s just me talking. I always love it when someone speaks to me but I will always be a little disappointed if the man is not attractive to me. Somewhere along the line I have got enmeshed in the shallowness of club life.
I watched a drunk guy try and get off with anyone he could find, he did a kind of crab dance and then would wipe his head slowly as if he was in pain. At closing time, we stood side by side at the cloakroom counter him going through his wallet looking for his ticket. It was a weird moment – I saw the inside of his wallet and his cash card through a plastic case. Here was someone who was so careful about his money and yet could take his heart out onto the dancefloor and offer it to anyone for less the price of his leather wallet. I hope it wasn’t his first time in a gay club. There was such innocence there it almost made me gasp. Later I was waiting outside, I saw him come out, and drop his blue sweater from out of his leather jacket. Here was my chance to whisk him away, to put my arm around him to lead him home. I was about to go and pick it up but a drunk girl got in there first. He said thanks and off he went, he then thought about it and turned back on himself.
I have made some good friends from going out in clubs, so perhaps I can be his. Although half of me wants to get into his pants. And there’s the problem – friend or fuck. (You can always fuck a foe.) And that’s a gay club for you. Your friends or your fucks. And the scary thing is your fucks might not always be your friend.