Turns Out I Can Hear My Instincts Over the Roar of My Libido

I learned a little about myself on Tuesday night. The Eagle was crowded because it was July 4th eve, and the cutest guy in there seemed very interested in me. Short, muscular white guy in his mid-thirties with a goatee. He cruised me pretty heavily, and I cruised back. Then he opened with, “You let me suck your cock, how ’bout that?” It was such a monumentally crass opening line, even for the Eagle, and spoken with not a trace of irony, humor, or warmth. I was kind of taken aback. I chatted with him for a couple of minutes anyway (he was in town from Pittsburgh — we talked about the reality level of Queer As Folk) and then I pushed off, because my instincts told me he was, as they say, not quite right, however sexually attractive.

After thinking about it, I realized that the opening line was kind of joke. He could see on my face that I was momentarily stumped for an opening line of my own, and so what he meant was, “‘You let me suck your cock.’ How’s that for an opening line?” I reconsidered approaching him — I still thought he was very hot. But by that point he was engrossed in conversation with someone else. And when I watched them chat, I realized I was right: he never smiled, never betrayed any sense of humor or human warmth. And I returned to my resolve to let him go his own way.