Some of my best friends are men. Some of these men were even born male. And some of those men are—hold onto your hats—straight. I know, I’m incredibly open-minded.
I must confess, however, that as much as I love the weaker sex, I have a terrible lack of understanding of their minds sometimes.
If I meet a man and am somehow informed of the fact that he is straight, my first instinct is rarely to suggest a rousing game of Spot the Hottie. For one thing, straight guys don’t often get hard over the butches who catch my eye.
I also have other things to talk about. Men, on the other hand, often see nothing whatsoever wrong with leaping directly into a graphic conversation about “babes” within moments of making my acquaintance.
When straight men first meet each other, is this really all they have to discuss?
Guy A: Hey, you fuck girls? I fuck girls!
Guy B: Wicked!
Guy A: Man, check out that girl, I sure would like to fuck her!
Guy B: I’d like to fuck her too!
Guy A and Guy B: We have so much in common!
I really want to believe that this is not how straight men bond. If not, does that mean this is the best method straight men have come up with for bonding with lesbians?
I’m not going to speak for all dykes but, just to be clear, this is not a good approach with me. There may be lezzers who find this kind of banter a lovely way to break the ice but I am not one of them.
I’m not talking about guys I’ve been friends with for years. We all know there are things you can joke about with your friends that are not appropriate to joke about with strangers.
Well, not all of us know that, I guess, but at least with a friend you can give them a swift kick in the balls and tell them not to be so rude.
I’m talking about the straight men I meet who consider my sexuality a green light to just drive right on past social niceties and straight to the locker room. Gentlemen, do I look like a girl who plays sports to you?
I recently received an e-mail from a straight dude I’ve never met. In this e-mail he jokingly called me a “stinky minge-binger” and told me that he loves dykes—his girlfriend is “half muncher” and her mother was “a bagel bumper.”
What on earth could possible make someone think this is an appropriate way to talk to a stranger?
Did he figure I’d thrown off the shackles of social propriety along with those of heterosexuality? He claimed I was being uptight and missing the joke. Perhaps he was right. Gosh, I really need to stop being such a stick in the mud and start having more fun. Jaeggers all around!
I suppose the strategy behind this inane course of action is to become my buddy, to demonstrate a complete comfort with my queerness.
First of all, I don’t much care if you are comfortable with my sexuality or not. In fact, you’d be surprised how little I care.
Secondly, how come my comfort never seems to come into the equation? Perhaps I’m just socially awkward but I generally like to be friends with someone before I start calling them names or sharing my girlfriend’s family business, even if that business is the cutthroat business of bagel bumping.
The only thing worse than these unbearable conversations with straight men is that idiotic V gesture they do with their fingers over their chins while sticking their tongues out.
Oh, how clever! I see what you’re doing there, it’s like a vulva and you’re inserting your tongue! Oh, that’s delightful! I do that to vulvas too! How well you understand me!
I hate it when men do that. And it is only straight men that do it; lesbians don’t. (Well, there is one lesbian I know who does it but she is terribly misguided and I am doing my best to break her of the habit.)
I just don’t understand how some men imagine forming a friendship with me based on inappropriateness and vulgarity. I know, I know, not everyone has had the benefit of a charm school education like I have, but surely men, even straight men, get taught some kind of friend-making skills somewhere along the line? Or has this art, too, gone the way of good customer service? Oh, don’t get me started on the state of customer service!
Listen, you’re not my buddy, Buddy. If you want to be my buddy, get your fingers off your damn chin, put your tongue back in your mouth and start using it to form words that make up sentences that don’t make me want to kick you in the nuts.
Because I reserve that gesture for the men in my life that I truly care about.