GNO: Gays night out

A vodka cranberry splatters over my white shoes as I stare at a crowd of gay men in aggravation. I contemplate whether the drink was spilled purposefully, intensely shaking the alcohol off my foot. It's not my first time navigating the vastness of LGBTQ+ nightlife, but I was definitely jarred.

 

Gay men are very messy. The drugs, the sex, the envy, and the competitive nature of the gay community aren't thrilling to me. A part of me is eager to experience the fun that coincides with naive behavior. However, I won't erase my morals in the name of pleasure.

 

"You have too much self-respect for your community," my sister-in-law says.

 

My friend Ahmed and I made dinner plans last Friday after not seeing each other since Pride. He mentioned two more people were joining us and that we were bound to have a good time. Despite my skepticism, I kept an open mind and used my exceptional social skills to tackle any awkwardness that arose.

 

Our group consisted of four men: Ahmed, Luis, Fernando, and me. We walked down 5th Avenue for blocks, absorbing the NYC humidity while simultaneously learning about each other. We arrived at a Mexican restaurant to devour tacos, nachos, and quesadillas. Although the aesthetic was there, the friendship was not. I didn't know these men enough to talk about things that mattered, nor did I feel like trying to overexert myself.

 

The vibe between Luis and me was off. It's not that he was shooting me nasty looks; his face carried no expression when speaking to me. His gaze was bland and full of observation, like an entitled child meeting a stranger. It was not welcoming, much less friendly. Both times Luis and I were left alone at the table felt like an inescapable eternity. I can't tell if he hated me or vice versa; what I did know is that I no longer wanted to be around him.

 

We paid our tab and rode the subway over to Hell's Kitchen, where horny men are confined to the erotica of cramped Manhattan bars. Selfie after selfie, we neared our destination with suspense. Our group effortlessly embodied gay beauty standards—we were bold, young, and undeniably gorgeous. I loved belonging to a gay friend group, even if it was just for a night.

 

With most of my clubbing experiences occurring in straight spaces, I was forced to alter my perception of "fun." The gay and straight worlds do not collide in the slightest, and it was up to me to adapt to the animalistic aura of gay nightlife.

 

Arriving at Mickey Spillane's, we dove into a sea of promiscuous men looking for their next catch. I met a guy named Bill, whom I miscalled Joe. He snubbed me immediately but was a super cute guy, nonetheless. I'm usually good at first impressions, but calling someone Joe is a non-negotiable. Before my shoes were drenched in cranberry juice, our group posed before an iPhone that captured every last detail of our Friday night.

 

It became exhausting to smile at the camera all the time. I wanted to lose myself in the allure of pop music, not be picture-perfect for social media. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken a massive pull of my weed pen before entering a large crowd. I don't know what was happening, but I wasn't myself that night until the end. I was the oldest of the group, and I felt it.

 

Luis and I were stuck dancing next to each other when I desperately wanted to be alongside Ahmed. After a few drinks, Luis and Fernando start making out. I wasn't surprised, just startled by how quickly it happened. Ahmed and Luis fought for Fernando's attention, flaunting their unrivaled assets to take the trophy home. I then turned my head to witness Fernando passionately kissing Ahmed just to make out with another guy 5. minutes later. I was in awe at how quickly these men were moving. It's like Mickey's was an ice cream shop, and everyone wanted more than one flavor.

 

Straight men go through women fast, but not on the same night. They're also courteous not to kiss a different group member two feet away from their previous target. Honestly, both men put up a good fight. Luis was confident, and Ahmed was playful.

 

I felt out of touch like I should've been actively flirting or trying to get in someone's pants. When my straight friends would leave me to talk to boys, I could always count on meeting a pretty girl to party with. In the gay world, approaching someone usually means you are sexually interested. I don't feed the male ego, let alone approach men I have no desire to learn more about.

 

Luckily, a 26-year-old Virgo rescued me from the youngins. His name was Dax. He knew the guys I was with and merged with our group of three since Luis raced out of the bar once Ahmed took ownership of Fernando's mouth. We chased warm tequila with laughter just in time for me to throw Ahmed in an Uber and finally calm down. Feeling the Hell's Kitchen buzz, I looked up the train schedule and decided my night was over.

 

I was tired, overstimulated, and bored. Dax persuaded me to stay, unaware of what I would morph into if I overdrank, and I respectfully declined. It was for the best.

 

I glided through the summer air with relief as I felt the alcohol leave my body. Despite the solitude I confronted on the way home, I appreciated my ability to partake in new adventures. I threw on my shiniest lip gloss and snaked downtown to the LIRR, where I sprinted down congested blocks to catch the 1:51 train.

 

Sweating through my button-down shirt, trying to catch my breath, I plop onto the railcar seat with one minute to spare. The train bolts out of Penn Station, and in the solace of my presence, I feel like myself again.

Yours truly, <3

David