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I tried to make my chest seem bigger, deepened my voice and swigged my sh***y beer like I was in a square state.
Alas, despite my greatest efforts, I was not a very convincing top.
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"No one here believes I'm a top," I thought to myself while taking the first sip of my second overpriced beer. " he yelled, throwing them to one side of the proverbial gymnasium. I was surprised to see that of the 30-ish men there, only three (including me) were dressed up.
I was less than halfway through a night of gay speed dating for "bottoms" and "tops" and had already been asked three times if I was in the right group. You're gayer than Judy Garland's Christmas ornaments. " I eventually "lost" my name tag at some point in the night. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.
Love is truly a numbers game, and these men knew this.
I was tired from putting on the performance of my life, and he was tired from all the normals he'd had to speak to.
The event, which was held in the confines of a cavernous bar downtown, had a surprisingly large turnout. " I looked at my name tag, which was peeling off already, as if it knew that the "T" written on it was all some horrible lie. That, and never buy knives from that dude from high school.
I happened to be one of the first guys to register with the organizer, and I took the opportunity to grab a beer and watch the men herd into line to register like cattle to the slaughter. " the organizer asked one man, who responded with a nervous chuckle. To be blunt, most of the men on either side (including me) were average-looking -- sometimes aggressively so.
There was a drizzle of uneasy laughter from the men in line. These men weren't the living mannequins you see gliding on the roller skates of their good looks through Chelsea.
It was like a nightmarish game of dodgeball that would air on LOGO.
One gentleman, for example, interrupted me halfway throughout our introductions and asked with a smile, "Are you a Greek god? I gave him the ol' side eye and sipped out of my beer suspiciously. "I would love to take you back to my apartment to photograph you." Flattered, and with a bit of beer foam dribbling out of my mouth, I politely declined.