I’ve definitely made out with girls.
I was about 13 when my older brother Scott related to me over a car wash that he called his boyfriend “Pookie” on occasion.
I’ve never thought the same of Garfield since.
I think my next line in the conversation was something like, “More lemonade?” In a diplomatic tone he then mentioned, “Well, how do you feel about that?” To which I asked the rather astute question, ” About what…?”
“About what I just said.” I really had the lines coming, so I sputtered, “Oh what, about you having a boyfriend?” Suddenly my speech increased to the rate of an alleyway crack dealer when I was trying to explain why being gay is cool. Obviously my concerned brother needed to be reminded why having sex with guys is cool by his 13-year-old sister.
But at 13, nothing is cool. Middle school and Mother Nature have teamed up against you and shit all over your face. You have no friends, no lunch – except tuna – no cool clothes and hair growing in all the wrong places. And now my brother is gay?
It only took me a few years to capture that point. Sure I’d met gay guys, some of them were even my friends; but they weren’t my brother.
When Scott went to grad school at UCSD, he brought me down to visit once. We went to a great restaurant where the waiter that had an equally great ass. I batted my eyelashes, pulled my elbows closer to my boobs (for the fake cleavage effect) and waited for him to take my order. At 17, you think you can hit on anything with a schlong.
But he took my brother’s order first. “What the fuck?” I thought. Before the waiter walked away, he winked at – no, not me – my brother.
I was just cock-blocked by my brother!
This was my first introduction to Hillcrest, a.k.a., Land of Many Available Fine Men That Are Not Available To Me (LOMAFMTANATM, for short).
Since then I’ve been introduced to several LOMAFMTANATMs, and I, (for the most part) love (some) gay men. When you know the dick is off limits, it’s all vagina to you. And by vagina, I don’t mean that every gay guy I meet runs up to me squealing, “Girlfrieeend!” which seems to be the common misconception.
It wasn’t always gravy growing up with a gay brother – and not just because of the cock-blocking. In high school, the first rule at school dances, above “don’t bring drugs, alcohol and Uzis,” was that a couple “should consist of one man and one woman.” People laughed at the rainbows and made the one openly queer kid in our class switch schools. So if this was all hard for me to swallow, imagine how my brother must have felt.
Which is when I started my rage-against-homophobic-humanity stage. I’d kiss girls to freak homophobe-highschoolers out. (So what if I sometimes got paid?) I’d correct assholes when they’d use the word “fag.” And I still do.
So why is it that at the University of California, I am still correcting people?
It astounds me the intolerance that is still prevalent in so many places, from some UCSB students to some Supreme Court Justices.
Currently the U.S. Supreme Court is still deciding the legality of sodomy laws in Lawrence and Garner v. Texas, the most recent sodomy case to be appealed to the high court since Bowers v. Hardwick in 1986. It strikes me as odd that some members of the so-called “supreme law of the land” are still trying to criminalize bedroom behavior. Lord knows I wouldn’t want Scalia in my bed.
Sodomy is nothing new. We’ve all heard about erotic Greek adventures. I’m convinced that the better part of Greek civilization was one huge Queer Pride Festival. How have we become so backward and puritanical?
Those of you that disagree, feel free to voice your opposition; I’d be interested to hear it. But for those of you who’ve been preaching “make love, not war” for the past few months, this week is the time to make good on your promises.
Between your visit to Fight Night, visit UCSB’s own LOMAFMTANATM: the Queer Wedding.
I might even kiss a girl. Ooh…
Daily Nexus sex columnist Beth Van Dyke just doubled her dating pool.