Thursday, February 21, 2008

Gay Tales

Ok, since the “Gandalf of the Blogoverse”, Earl, has been dissing about the trip we took to Key West about 10 years ago, I figured I might as well go the Full Monty and tell you about one of our other adventures from that trip.

It was probably our fourth or fifth day down there, and I had gotten a pretty good tan. Scratch that… I had a REALLY good tan going on. One of the truly great advantages of being 100 % Sicilian is that I can basically get a tan from just staring at the microwave. And it’s almost impossible for me to get sunburned. One of the only times I ever DID get a burn, was the time I went to Cancun and decided it was a smart idea to cover myself in baby oil while napping under the Mayan sun. Now THAT shit was painful… how do you pale folk deal with that crap?

But I digress….

Anyway, I was pretty dark after a few days down there. (side node: Earl, who is a “whiter than white” Irish boy, never ventured outside without 2 sweaters on and SPF 2000.

My point being, after a few days down there, I was looking pretty much like a “local”, and if you know anything about Key West, you probably know that many of the locals happen to be of the “un-hetero” variety.


One night we are all at this bar, just hanging out listening to the band, when Earl and our other friends went up to the bar for some more drinks, leaving me alone at our table.

Along saunters up a middle-aged gentleman, extremely tan, wearing an open Hawaiian shirt, short shorts, sandals, and a big floppy panama hat.

He comes up to my table, sits himself down, and starts making chit-chat. The guy was obviously quite gay, but he seemed nice enough, and I was feeling quite mellow, and I wasn’t getting the sense that I was getting hit on.


His questions started getting more and more personal, and I started getting more and more uncomfortable, anxiously waiting for Earl to get back to our table. I had gotten hit on a number of times during that trip, but never as “in your face” as this guy was doing. But I have learned to live with these kinds of advances from all sexes. After all, I AM smoking hot.

So, the guy keeps quizzing me, and finally he asks me, “So, what are you and your friends down here for?”

Not seeing the question coming, I quickly answered, “uuuuh, I dunno…. A good time?”.

During the span of my lifetime, there was never a time when I wished more that I could physically grab the stupid-ass sentence that came out of me, and cram it back down my throat.

The guy lights up like a Christmas tree at my response. I guess in gay-code, I just gave him the green light to a night of hot man on man sweaty romance.

And if I thought his LAST question threw me, I certainly wasn’t ready for his next one…

“So, do you want to dance?”

Before I could say “No thanks”, the guy jumps up, and starts doing some extremely queer version of the Macarana while standing over me, basically with his junk about an inch from my face.

Freaking out, I try to look thru his legs, in a frantic attempt to find out what is taking Earl so fucking long with those drinks….

As I finally get a good look at the bar (a view I got from between this guy’s inner thigh and his balls), I was astonished (and I really shouldn’t have been, in retrospect), to see Earl and our other friends sitting at the bar, exploding with laughter while watching the whole scene.

They clearly had NO intention of coming over to bail me out…. Ever.

The next time you guys give me crap about the hard time I give Earl, remember this story.
It is, sadly, one of many.

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