by Gail Marlowe
Why did the man I couldn’t take my eyes off have to be so old?
I couldn’t go over to him. So he was in the Gay and Lesbian Studies section of Borders and reading a book he’d picked up from a shelf there. That didn’t mean he was gay. Maybe he had a gay son or nephew or friend, or maybe he was looking at a book about lesbians because his daughter was one, or maybe he was just curious. And even if he was gay, he wore his suit as though he wore one all the time and liked it, so he was probably a professor or a businessman or someone uptight I’d never get along with.
And he was too old for me. He was probably my dad’s age.
No, I couldn’t go over to him and strike up a conversation. I couldn’t ask him to have coffee with me. And I definitely couldn’t ask him to have sex with me, even though I wanted to.
Every time I had been attracted to a guy, all through high school and all through college and now when I had a real job and made real money, he ended up being someone I couldn’t go after. No, wouldn’t go after.
I was sick of it.
Why couldn’t I find an attractive guy and just see if he was into guys? Could it be that hard?
Well, yeah, it sure seemed to be. I’d known since I was a kid and thought that Batman and Superman were hot, not Catwoman or Supergirl, that I preferred guys, and I knew now I wanted to have sex with a guy, but I couldn’t get up the courage to approach any guys.
Pitiful. That was me.
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Gail Marlowe is a knitter, a writer, and a dulcimer player who lives in the greater Boston area with two cats, a parrot, and a guitarist. Other stories by her can be found at her site .