I'm Sorry, Did I Just Out You?

Sorry I've been away for a bit. I was working, and then went home to Erie, PA, for a week with my family. In addition to a little relaxation, I found fodder for at least two blog entries, so here comes number one.

As usual, it begins with decreased inhibitions thanks to our old friend alcohol. As Sofia Patrillo might say, "Picture it, Erie, 2005"... (The picture is my parents' house with the first snow of the year.)

The first event scheduled for my week home by Mom, my cruise director, was a party at my cousin's house for her son's second birthday. It got good when her husband invited me to play Texas Hold'em with his friends. I was rolling along, having won my second game and $60, when a gorgeous guy (hereafter to be known as "Hottie") came in with an equally beautiful woman on his arm. He had slightly dark skin (probably Italian) with short, impeccably groomed black hair, a nice bod, and a great smile. He was wearing jeans that showed off his ass nicely, and a long sleeve black pullover top that showed some nice definition in the pecs. My 'dar was pinging away, but this is Erie (not a hotbed of homos) and he had come with a woman. So I more or less resigned myself to nothing more that nice scenery for the evening, provided I didn't get caught looking too much.

Hottie won the last poker game, and it was time to go out. Since I was the big winner (and the big salary), I bought the first round. After ordering an assortment of beer for others, I asked Hottie what he wanted.

"Jack and Diet Coke," he replied.

I hate to promote stereotypes, but I can count on one hand the straight men who order Jack with Diet Coke. I think even most gay men out for the evening get regular Coke. I did a terrible job of hiding a smile, but he didn't seem to mind. Needless to say, I kept him in Jack and DIET Coke for the evening, and changed to the same myself. At our first stop, I also learned that his escort was his sister, that he was living in Cleveland, and that while there was a lot of reciprocal nipple grabbing in this crowd, Hottie seemed to start most of it.

Fast forward through a number of drinks to the next bar. I was hanging a bit extra with Hottie, who didn't seem to mind, but he might have just been being nice to the visitor. The booze haze sets in about now, but I told him about my place, my view, and my Baby (the Mustang). He thought it might be fun to visit and took my digits. I can't tell you for sure whether that happened before of after the following exchange.

My cousin's husband (CH), "Joel, what about her?"
"She's not my type."
"How about her?"
"Not my type."
"What are you, gay?" I wish to God I was sure whether CH or Hottie asked this.
I responded with something to the effect of "Yeah, pretty much."

This led to the usual discussion of how, why, and what's it like. At some point Hottie set me off with some comment about how he did or didn't expect it based on my appearance/attitude (I think. The haze had gotten thicker by this time). So I let loose with:

"Fine, but I'm not the one with the impeccable hair and the groomed eyebrows, wearing a tight black shirt and 'check-my-ass' jeans, and grabbing men's nipples while smoking and drinking Jack and DIET COKE."

Silence.

After a few minutes, we came around to agreeing that he was a metrosexual who tried to look good and stay thin. (Though given that this was Western PA, the mere fact that he didn't slug me says something.) After a little needless (but typical of Western PA) rough-housing, he and CH drove me home. The story would end there, had not my cousin called me later in the week. I had never told her about my orientation, but I think she'd had some inklings.

"You're not mad at my husband are you?"
"No. Is he mad at me for coming out to him and upsetting his friend in one drunken night?", I asked.
"No - he doesn't care. His roommate was gay, and the only problem was that after he came out, he stopped talking to [CH], even though he was OK with it. But he ended up walking home the other night with a big cut on his forehead, so I wanted to make sure you were OK."
"I'm fine. He and [Hottie] dropped me off. They had horse around a little, but I thought they were OK."

Apparently after they dropped me off at my folks place, CH asked Hottie if he was gay, and said he was OK with it, but he wanted to know. It turns out that I was not the first person to think Hottie might be less than entirely straight. His sister had even noted that he flirted with women in Erie, rarely got them, and in Cleveland always hung out with a bunch of men. Hottie said he was NOT GAY. It didn't end there -- here's my favorite part.

"If you're not gay, then give me Joel's phone number back, because you won't need it", CH said.

Hottie refused to give back or tear up my digits. Then the brawl ensued and CH walked most of the way home, calling my cousin from a pay phone when he had sobered up a little.

The word from my cousin is that if Hottie is gay and keeping it quiet, it's because his Mom won't be able to handle it. As for everyone, I hope that whatever his orientation and situation, he's happy. And he's not pissed at me. And that he calls me one way or the other. As Blondie would say, I'll be "hangin' on the telephone".

Y'all probably want to see a picture of him. I have one, but it's just for me, for now. I think I've stirred up his life enough. Instead, here's a nice young Erie-ite, who let me take her picture to get the "Keep Erie Weird" button. I think I did my part. Someday, I promise, I will learn how to rotate these photos.

Aggressive twit that I am, I have considered getting Hottie's info to attempt to smooth over or advance the situation. Opinions on this course of action are welcome.

Thank you for being a friend. Stay tuned for my favorite lines from my trip home.