The next day, I remembered he had never asked my name. I didn’t necessarily care about the order. I craved everything: the white picket fence with a sex swing inside the house. I wasn’t opposed to casual sex, but I wanted romance, too. I never felt like I had the option to say no then, and to a certain extent, I didn't now. Usually, a girl would have to throw herself on top of me. Being closeted had made my pursuits of vaginal intercourse gradual, to say the least. Now, it appeared to me that gay men would rather entertain sex without chemistry than the grueling burden of getting to know each other.
But that’s probably because television rarely takes women out of the equation. Even one-night stands got to know each other at the bar before sleeping together, and then they fell in love. Even watching the most adult shows, I never saw bartenders going down on people in bathrooms or anonymous men inviting guys over online. Previously, I assumed a formal date had to come before physical intimacy. The bartender smiled and unbuckled my pants, performing as promised. Then I checked my phone and saw it was 1:00 a.m. "But I'm not 21 yet," I still responded as my lips slowly released his. But then I felt the bartender breathe on me again and, to my surprise, I kissed him first. Part of me wanted to reject his advancement, if only because we were inside a dive bar’s public restroom. It was incredible how the only difference between a creeper and Prince Charming seemed to be a mutual attraction.
However, I didn't expect men to be so straightforward without the veil of the internet.
At first, dating guys felt unexpected, but soon, every chat became like a horny step-and-repeat. But at least dabbling in gay hookup culture online prepared me for this. It was admittedly the least romantic question I’ve ever heard. "Don't you want a 21st birthday blow job?" he asked, matter-of-factly, like it was a thing. Finally locking eyes, I let the seconds pass between us. But now that a strange man locked himself in the bathroom with me, that angst turned into passion. In the past, I had always felt hesitation in my interactions with women, as if there was a wrong way to do intimacy. "Did you want to go first?" I asked, but he nudged me inside. When I went to the bathroom, the bartender's foot prevented the door from closing. I avoided meeting his relentless gaze as if Medusa was offering me more gin. He questioned why he had never seen me around, so I joked that he should've looked in the closet. My ego couldn't handle another rejection, so I was determined to play it cool with the bartender. My experience with men thus far was limited to my brief fling with Jared, a 34-year-old jaded (but ridiculously handsome) New Yorker who couldn't see himself committing to a 20-year-old. Then, I realized he might be interested in me.
"You're lucky it's your birthday in a few hours," he said.Īt first, I stayed because I had nowhere else to go - my brother needed me out while he asked his roommate for permission for me to stay - but every free drink from the bartender made me feel more welcomed. The bartender looked at my real ID, then offered me a drink on the house. I ordered a gin and soda, and he glanced me up and down.
"What are we having?" a bald, muscular bartender asked. But I suppose it didn't traumatize me enough to have the patience to wait another night. Still in the closet, I had perceived the bouncer's rejection as a sign I didn't belong inside. The one time I tried entering a gay bar in the past was the only time my fake ID had ever failed. My heart started pounding faster as I entered the venue, though I felt relieved by the lack of a doorman. When I searched for the nearest LGBTQ+-friendly spaces in his Lower East Side neighborhood, a bar called Boiler Room popped up. I was in between apartments in New York and temporarily staying at my brother's. I entered my first gay bar on the eve of my 21st birthday.