At Least I Could Get Picked Up at the Gay Bar

Before I was 21, there were a few bars I’d go drinking at in Charlottesville: Buddhist Biker Bar, Miller’s, and Eastern Standard.

Of the three, Eastern Standard was both the nicest and had a local reputation as being “the gay bar.”

Derek had worked the kitchen there and knew several of the staff.
Because of that, I never got carded, and my tab was usually way less than what I’d actually drunk.

Whenever I sat at the bar, I’d inevitably get hit on.
Sometimes I’d say no thanks.
Other times I’d let the person buy me drinks and chat all night.

If Derek was with me, I’d politely decline and say I wasn’t gay.
It felt weird to go home with another guy when Derek was around.

If he wasn’t?

Honey, I was the gayest.

If someone asked if I’d go home with them, sometimes I’d say sure.
Other times, I’d say, the bathroom is closer.

But I drew the line at kissing.
I never had any desire to make out with another guy.

Most didn’t care.
Some would get pissy and call me weird.

There was this really cute bartender there—Mixy.
She had that punk rock look: orange and black hair, nose and brow piercings, a bunch of tattoos.

One night, after I told a guy I didn’t kiss men, he pointed to her and asked:

“Would you make out with her?”

“Sure,” I said. “She’s fucking adorable.”

He called me a liar.
Said I was straight and just experimenting.

I laughed.

“You’re just butt-hurt because I don’t want to suck your lips.”

Mixy overheard us.

She came over:

“Is he causing you trouble?”
(Said in mock concern.)

“He’s just pissed I don’t kiss dudes.”

She laughed.

“Neither do I.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re not cute, right?” I said.
“If guys were cuter, sure, I’d kiss one—or a dozen.”

The guy was red in the face now.

Mixy leaned in close and whispered:

“Wanna really piss him off?”

Before I could respond, she planted one on me.
We locked in a short, messy, deliberate make-out session.

The guy lost it.

“You just said you don’t kiss dudes either—
and now you’re making out with this chubby fucking kid?”

She looked him straight in the eye:

“Get the fuck out.
And never come back.”

He stormed off.

I’ll never forget what Mixy said to me after:

“I never lie.
You’re way too fucking cute to be a dude.”