Tag Archives: butch

Leaving Bayonne – The Gays

Personal Bits, Queer stuff, Travel

On a ship of 3300 passengers, you’d probably think that some were gay. If you subscribe to the 1 in 10 theory then there should have been at least 300 gay people. Three hundred butch fems or flamboyant floaters should not be hard to find in two weeks of sailing.

As we were in line for embarkation in Bayonne, I scanned the crowd to see if any sisters were coming on board with us. PING went my Gaydar and I spied two gentlemen travelling together and wearing near identical jeans, t-shirts and male pattern baldness. Dead giveaway. As our line to the check in desk snaked by them a couple times I made three official efforts to catch their eye and smile, with the hopes of striking up a conversation.

All three times was met with them turning their back to us after a cautionary glance. Snubbed, but not let down I started to look around for more family. Fuck you, dudes, we’re not cruising, we’re being friendly!

Our first breakfast in the main dining room had us randomly seated with two women in their 70s on a bus/cruise tour who asked me outright if we were brothers. SharkBoy was not part of that conversation so I said “Yes,” and proceeded to let that lie fester in their heads a moment. I wondered if they wondered what the hell two brothers in their 40s were doing out on a cruise…

Two other occasions we were asked if we were brothers by passengers. I would say yes and hold onto SharkBoy’s arm in a confusing/awkward display of affection.

By day 7 I had given up looking through the crowd for possible homo contact and turned off my Gaydar. SharkBoy says there were at least two other couples on board that he could tell (I never saw them) and one lovely lad who was taking his mother on a trip (questionable at best but that just stank of a Tennessee Williams play). There was a bespectacled lesbian we sat with a couple times at breakfast (rainbow tattoos on her forearms!) but she refused to offer up anything other than “hello” and “see ya!”, but I expect she was painfully shy. The two guys spied at the top of the cruise still refused to make eye contact and I decided that they were on some sort of relationship rebuilding vacation after one of them admitted to a terrible admission to sex addiction.

Not that I wanted to be on a gay cruise. If I wanted to be surrounded by my own I would have booked an all exclusive vacation but to tell the truth, I have no desire to run with my own. Sorry StevieB, but I’m what The Advocate calls “Self Hating”. After years of working in a bar I can’t imagine an all gay vacation let alone being trapped on a boat for any amount of time with rainbow beaded, whistle blowing, Aussie Bum wearing party queens. Sure I’ve travelled en mass with other gays and have even done Gay Days twice at Disney World but, for me, to “travel gay” is like living in the gay village – ghetto gets you nowhere. You really need to get out there to experience other things. That being said, I was missing a bit of the old catty banter that comes with a fruity drink in your hand and a good gay by your side. Especially since we were in such a ripe environment for ridicule.

As we left Antigua (after the Prickly Pear Island) SharkBoy and I were up on the top deck watching the boat leave the island. SharkBoy says “This is a really good vacation, considering.” I know he means that despite the uncooth masses, he (we!) were having a good time. And I thought to myself “It is. A bit lacking in the gay companionship department…”

Suddenly a crew member came and stood beside us at the railing. We started to talk and within moments he revealed that he had a boyfriend on another ship within the fleet and that they were considering moving their home to Toronto. We spend a very long time talking as the ship sailed out and he told us a lot of stories which I will not repeat here to keep his anonymity. Not that he was shy about his status and his partner, he offered first, but I’m not one to leave trails of career shattering evidence all over the internet. He had us fascinated and laughing at the same time with stories of ship operations and shenanigans. It was a nice gay island in the vacation of gaylessness.

Walter and Perry

Overheard, Queer stuff

Home Movies - Walter and PerryAt my gym, there are two guys who are dressing just as SharkBoy and I are arriving at the locker room. I will call them Walter and Perry, based on the two 8 year old homosexual couple from Brendon Small’s understated cartoon masterpiece: Home Movies. The cartoon Walter and Perry transcend homosexuality. They bring it to a new level of devotion, well into the “creepy” zone. Like couples wearing matching soft focus kitten shirts in Wal Mart.

Our gym Walter and Perry, however, are not as funny.

While I suspect they’re gay, they yammer on about stupid shit that may or may not identify them as being gay, while throwing in vapid “guy talk” that completely destroys their butch facade. They think this is hilarious and have their volume set so that the rest of the locker room can hear how much fun they’re having. Once I saw them outside the gym, throwing punches at each other in a manly, “lookit us be butch!” kind of way. I can think of many other ways to look manly, starting with passive aggressiveness.

Walter, the short 5’5″ muscle guy, obviously overcompensating for his height, actually struts around the locker room with his towel strategically placed just below the start of his ass crack. Hot? Not! This kind of thing might work at a bath house, but in a public gym? Yerk! Perry, an average height guy and the “brains” of the two, creates the suggestive butch-shattering situations to see how far he can push Walter. Like this little gem overheard this morning, two isles over:

Perry: Move your ass. (Pause) I bet you’d do it for money.
Walter: What? Fucked in the ass?
Perry: Yeah! You’d totally go do it for $5000

I have no clue why he chose $5000. I know plenty of straight guys who would not even touch buttsex at 5x that amount, let alone gay guys who would pay that much to have it done to them.

Walter: You wish! Nah man. Not me.
Perry: Come on. You wouldn’t do it for …5 minutes for $5000?
Walter: No man!

There’s a pause. Then some mumbling.

Not sure which: It’s all about girth, not length.

Sound it Out

Personal Bits

Just in from an ultrasound, kiddies! Apparently my last blood test suggested an “enlarged liver” so my Doc, ever cautious, ordered me to the lab.

Upon entering the lab at St George’s Medical Arts Building, I had to wait until the receptionist had finished with her conversation to a friend on her cell. Normally I would have been upset with a wait like this but her conversation (which she meant for me to hear) was one of desperation. She was trying to find a home for a border collie that had been abused by her neighbours. She asked me instantly if I wanted him. I don’t and she tells me of the struggle this dog has had. She seems like a caring sort, confirmed when she confesses to having 4 cats and one dog already.

I was ushered into the changing cubicles where surprise sooprize, I had the same technician doing my scan as the last time I was there a few years back for a lump. In my boob. (Her words. Slowly. Hushed. Conspiratory: “Is the lump. In you boob…gone?”) So instantly she was friendly and chatty, taking a moment to laugh at the big BUTCH pin on my knapsack. “Nothing but underwear, socks and shoes. Put this robe on backwards and this one on forwards. I don’t want you wandering the hall bare butt.” I remember how much I liked her the first time.

Into the scanning suite. Up goes the gown and a sheet of paper towel is tucked into and draped over my underwear. I lie down and she grabs the KY in squeezy bottle.

“Do you have BBQ flavour?” I ask as she covers my hairy chest and belly with the thankfully warm lube.

“HA! There’s a first,” she comments.

She can’t stop asking about my lump she looked at two years ago. She meekly raises her ultrasound wand and ask “Can I look at your… boob… with my… wand?” I let her. All clear. She’s happy.

She slips her wand over my right side. I start to laugh. She starts to laugh. “Sorry. It always kills me when big biker dudes like yourself giggle when I touch them. Can you take out your belly ring?”

In walks the Dog Savior receptionist with the Wand Waving Tech’s next appointment file, resulting in joking banter about hiding my underwear with the paper towel. “What’s he got under there?” The Dog Savior asks, pointing at my Bounty covered BVDs. These two have sussed me out in seconds.

“A cat,” I say. First thing into my head since she’s a dog lover.

“I think we’re the ones with cats,” says the Wand Waver.

Hilarity ensues.

The Wand Waver digs her sensor into my abdomen and makes clucking sounds. “Can’t you find it?” I ask.

I get a playful dirty look. “Oh, I’ll find it,” she says.

After a time she tells me that I have a “horseshoe kidney”, a conjoined kidney, which is rare but not surprising. She’s snapping pictures of my innards all this time and we move on to the liver, the star of the show. I ask for a nice 8×10 colour or at least wallet sized photos.

“Now see, you were original before with the BBQ,” she says.