Stereotypes

“Wow, you really keep the place neat,” commented my friend while visiting my condo. “And you have a way of arranging everything so it fits and looks nice.”

“Well, you know us gay guys,” I joked. “We’re hell on wheels when it comes to interior decorating.”

My friend lives on the edge of homophobia, and consistently jokes about queer guys. He exploits stereotypes about gay people, typical fodder for homophobes, and it throws him for a loop when a friend comes out and explodes the stereotype. I came out to him because we’re good enough friends I figured he could take the truth.

He asked why I hadn’t told him before, and I explained I thought he was too homophobic to understand. “Aw, I just kid about that,” he responded. I tried to explain how jokes about gay guys can be injurious to those stuck in the closet and afraid to come out. Making jokes using stereotypes is discrimination.

No question: some gay men exhibit stereotypical gay behavior; there is ample exposition. Wikipedia explains that the “heterocentric” mainstream stereotypes gay men as effeminate, speaking “with a lisp and/or a female-like tone and lilt.”

Alan Taylor provides more scholarly data in Homosexuality and Social Sex Roles (Haworth Press, Inc., 1983). He reports 72% of sample respondents stereotype homosexuals as sexually abnormal, 52% consider us perverted, 42% find us mentally ill and 29% consider us effeminate. Smaller percentages feel that we are lonely, insecure, immoral, repulsive, frustrated, weak-minded, lacking self-control, over-sexed, dangerous and sinful. And that pretty well wraps up male homosexual stereotypes.

A stereotype is an oversimplified, standardized and generalized perception or image of a person or group. Stereotypes ignore individual differences and are often simply not true. They tend to lump people into pigeonholes and categories that are not appropriate. Stereotypes reinforce prejudice.

Many gay men don’t fit stereotypes and sometimes wish the more flamboyant among us didn’t reinforce gay stereotypes in the heterocentric mainstream. Gay performer Adam Lambert, for example, earned the ire of one friend of mine who “absolutely hates” Lambert because he is so gay-in-your-face. Conversely, others feel Lambert serves the gay community by habituating the public to visible gay men in their midst.

For my part, I don’t feel like I fit gay stereotypes. That is probably the result of having been in the bisexual closet for so many years. When I came out of the closet I didn’t suddenly start lisping, acting swishy or hitting on my straight friends.

I must admit though, that after hanging out with a bunch of gay men for a couple of days, I noticed a change in my behavior. In the company of gay men, I became more openly gay, allowing myself to respond more candidly to other men. I flirted and enjoyed touching and caressing. I let myself feel more homosexual and loved it.

The wake-up call came when I transited back into mainstream society. I spontaneously hugged a friend I met on the street—he was gobsmacked—and flirted with a couple of boys in the grocery store checkout line. Katie, bar the door!

Drag show

I live in a place where an entire team of heterosexual men cross-dresses for its softball games. Men in dresses consistently win awards and throng our many town parades. My guess is, not one of these cross-dressers is gay or even particularly kinky, although who knows what goes on between their sheets?

I have observed little kids when first they see a man dressed as a woman. It is so far outside their experience, such a non-sequitur in the lexicon of their perception, that they stare unabashedly, unable to take their eyes off the fashion statement. They just don’t get it.

Transvestites or cross-dresser men are not necessarily gay; they simply like to wear women’s clothes. Cross-dressers are not minimalist players. In my experience, their breasts are too big, they wear entirely too much makeup, and they all have too much “big” hair. Maybe all that is the badge of entry; maybe it’s part of the fun of cross-dressing. I don’t know.

I have never experienced any great compulsion toward cross-dressing, if for no other reason than because I look like hell in women’s clothing. I don’t have a body that looks attractive in tight-fitting anything. I have no hourglass waist, no bosom, no flaring hips and my legs are not those of an attractive woman. I can’t imagine wearing high heels; I have injured my ankle falling off cowboy boots.

Furthermore, I have seen a lot of transvestites who simply didn’t cut the mustard in their wannabe garb. I have only seen one or two men dressed in drag that I thought made for an attractive woman; one of those looked damned good. Maybe I’ve just been looking in the wrong places…which begs the question: Which are the right places?

The right place to see men in drag—no surprise—is a drag show. I witnessed my first drag show a couple of months ago in Dallas, where we happened into a restaurant called Hung Dinger’s. At a show like this, there is no doubt that performers are, or once were, gay men. No simple cross-dressers and no pretense: They were gay.

Hung Dinger’s features a good Italian feed followed by a floor show with female impersonators, transvestites, transsexuals…whatever. I never did fully determine the sexual disposition of the performers; I think several were in transition between genders.

Regardless, although I didn’t deem my first drag show highly erotic, I fully enjoyed myself. The women were titillating and sexy, they flirted effectively enough to wrangle paper money from my pocket, and they had their act down. Most of the time, I couldn’t even tell they were lip-synching. That is, until they lowered the microphone enough to say, “Thank you, sweetie,” while the music voice-over continued unabated.

The show was good enough at Hung Dinger’s that it made me wonder how good a really high production drag show must be. In either case, high-rent or low, I do wonder something else: Why do gay men pay money to watch other gay men dress up as women? Entertainment value? Rite of passage? Good clean fun. Ah, that must be it.

The other woman, er…man

Maybe it’s the age thing instead of the fidelity thing. More likely, the fidelity thing is pervasive across the age continuum. When young, we play the field and tickle the ivories of promiscuity. As we age, we find a partner and settle into a single committed relationship. Young or old, homo or hetero, committed relationships usually imply and demand fidelity.

My own attempts at fidelity have been dismal failures. As a mature man who has danced both sides of the sexual orientation fence, it is safe for me to assert that fidelity is not part of the way I am put together. With apologies to everyone whom I have failed, I admit that fidelity goes against my nature. Therefore, a committed relationship is probably—never say never—beyond my ken.

Here’s the age thing: No matter what our sexual orientation and for whatever reasons, in the fullness of maturity we seek the security and comfort of a long-term committed relationship. We want to be “married” to one person who will succor us through better and worse. It’s time to settle in for the duration.

This makes social and sexual life difficult for newly-single mature gay men, fresh out of the closet and the security of heterosexual marriages. Young and single men aren’t interested in the old dude, who may himself desire young men, but who probably relates better to men his own age.

There are more and more men in this situation; life isn’t necessarily easy after the closet door slams shut behind us. Having changed the program, we must begin anew, seeking friends of like mind and sexual partners with whom we are compatible. The field is limited, and many of us are long out of practice or completely unfamiliar with the new social milieu.

For my part, I am not entirely out of practice and I thoroughly enjoy my new social milieu…rarified as it is. I am attracted to men around my age who share a life experience and lifetime agenda that years past demonstrate. No surprise: many of those guys are married.

Here’s the fidelity part: Married men—homo or hetero—are involved in one of those long-term committed relationships…with someone else. Having myself so recently been down the long and painful road of infidelity and divorce, I tell myself not to help put other men on that path.

This is lots easier said than done. While still in a heterosexual marriage, I interacted with married men; it seemed safer that way and less damning. Mutual guilt is somehow less guilt. I still share those relationships, although I now try to maintain them as friendships so sex doesn’t jeopardize a marriage.

Gay relationships and a few heterosexual relationships are sometimes more open. A wife, for example, may demonstrate love and understanding for her gay spouse and consent to his homosexual perambulations…as long as he’s careful. Gay relationships are sometimes non-monogamous enough to sustain one partner enjoying sex outside the primary relationship.

The upshot? Be kind, be careful, what goes around comes around. It’s complicated, but who would expect it otherwise?

Sexual dynamic

“How come guys are so weird?” asked my friend. “You’re a guy and you used to go with women. Why do guys always act so weird around women?”

Women confide in gay men because we are non-threatening. They open up to us because they know they can tell us stuff in candor. While I will never use such confidences to my own inter-personal advantage, the information is consummately interesting because it provides insight into about fifty-percent of humanity.

“Men are weird with women because men think what they say and how they act will be misinterpreted,” I answered.

Men often don’t understand women; women often don’t understand men. Hence: Men talk to women so they can sleep with them--women sleep with men so they can talk to them. Billy Crystal said: "Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place." Caveat: Any insight I proffer about heterosexual matters is suspect. It didn’t work for me--track record--not for lack of trying, but because I am homosexual. Duh.

Men fear they will appear needy or too forward. While their greatest desire might be to jump into the sack with their date, they are loathe to demonstrate their desire for fear of rejection. Women, by contrast, want to experience a connection, to be wooed for who they are and not as sexual objects.

In my limited experience, I believe the dynamic is different between gay men. I read somewhere in fiction, “Men like us just happen to like other men like us, to like the way a man kisses, or the feel of him in our hands…” It is straightforward. Two men attracted to one another don’t necessarily have to indulge some kind of mating dance; they understand each other from the get-go.

For example, I am a very sexual person and very forward. When I am with a guy I want to pleasure, I simply ask if he will let me. Generally, he understands my impulse and is grateful for no innuendo and no pretense. My cards are on the table. The man understands “forward” and is often turned on by it. If the man doesn’t want me messin’ with him, he merely declines my offer. I don’t feel rejected and we can proceed with being friends…or whatever.

Can anyone imagine such a dynamic between a man and woman?

Light in the heart of darkness

Dallas? Like in Dallas, Texas? That’s the place where a misbegotten soul assassinated one American president, and where another president—misbegotten himself—finds refuge in the heart of darkness.

Yet deep in the heart of Dallas there is a neighborhood called Oaklawn, which shines a bright light in the midst of an otherwise bible-belt, mega-church congregation. Maybe I’m being too harsh; to be honest, I did not wander far or sample amenities such a large and diverse community must have to offer.

Oaklawn is an active and mature gay enclave. I recently visited the Oaklawn “gayborhood” with a group of men I joined when my marriage went south because I am gay. Men in our group have lots in common: being gay and having travelled similar paths. To me, the gay part is special; being part—even temporarily—of a larger gay community is liberating and enabling.

As I define my out of the closet path, I experience a gestalt so much more fulfilling than quickie, hook-up sex I sought when in the closet. I enjoy walking down the street holding hands or sharing a kiss in public. I can enjoy being with a bunch of gay men or my boyfriend. I can be with another man with whom I feel an attachment, with whom I am bonded, and I don’t have to hide it.

Among a community of gay men, no one stares, no one makes rude comments and everyone understands. Like-minded souls embrace my feelings and my passions. These are rewards for coming out of the closet and living an honest and authentic life. This is practically unique in my experience, because no matter how far out of the closet I travel, I cannot experience that freedom at home where I live.

That is absolutely not to say I would move from my home here at the head of the draw to an urban neighborhood where I could more openly celebrate my sexuality. In all this coming-out-sexuality talk, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that sexuality is only one part—albeit sometimes all-consuming—of the whole that is me. I ski…and I am gay. I frequent rarified ridges…and I do so as a gay man. I annoy my horses, and they don’t give a damn one way or another whether I am gay or not…but of course, I am.

Back home now, far from the heart of darkness, I am in another enclave. My place is by no means gay, but instead is a recreation archipelago that celebrates mountains and nature, clean air and water, solitude, prospect and refuge. I have left my gay community behind for the time being, and no question: I miss it. But I am happy in my chosen place. I am content as a gay man because no matter where I go, there I am.

Glass slipper

Having labored so long under the cruel stepsisters of heterosexual relationships, my prince finally fitted me with a glass slipper of love and companionship. My transformation involves an epiphany of truly life-changing proportions. Although I expected my coming out would change things, I wasn’t entirely prepared for the depth of feeling I am experiencing.

He told me I would begin to experience feelings, recognize nuances and notice differences in the way I perceive other men and the way they perceive me. My feelings have transitioned from yearning for clandestine, transitory and often somewhat insalubrious experience, to deeper sexual understanding created by friendship and companionship. Although there remains certain appeal, I no longer seek strictly one-night stands, quickies and hook-ups. I have discovered more complex and satisfying feelings, and find myself quite taken with them.

Ah, nuance: tricky stuff. We un-reconstructed hippies call it a vibe. As an out, gay man I find myself more keenly attuned to different vibes. Certainly there is the question, when I meet an acquaintance on the street, of whether or not they know I am gay. Sometimes that vibe is easy to discern. If I sense, for example, a tentativeness or outright stand-offishness, I know they know and either don’t approve or don’t understand how to deal with it. I find myself highly sensitive to homophobia. In other people I sense approval and happiness for me. Yet others simply don’t want to know about my sexuality—too much information—a penchant I completely understand.

Finally, there are differences in the way I perceive other men and they way they perceive me. Some call this “gaydar.” In the microcosm of my small community, I find all too few blips on the gaydar screen. Even so, I celebrate my growing awareness of other men, but am careful, knowing most of them don’t share my predilections. It is my hope that as my gaydar becomes more sensitive, I can more easily distinguish those who are comfortable with me and my gayness.

I am on a new and exciting learning curve, surrounded by fresh feelings and harbingers of a wonderful new way of being me. Yes, I am still the old me, but now there is so much more. Born again like Cinderella on the half-shell, the glass slipper fits really well. However, I will have to fit it with waffle-stomper soles in order to negotiate the rocks and ice.

Enthusiasm of inexperience

I haven’t been there as much as I’d like to have been, and I haven’t done that, at least not enough to call myself comprehensively experienced. More than one forever-gay friend has told me my enthusiasm would easily outstrip my experience and they were correct. I was forewarned…but I haven’t let that slow me down.

Instead, I’m like that kid in a candy store where I want to sample every sweet-tasting candy stick in those tall glass jars behind the counter. The clerk warns me all that candy will damage my teeth and even wiser counsel suggests I will spoil my dinner. I don’t give a tinker’s damn about dinner in the short run; there is no question that I am a total slut for immediate gratification. I almost always fill up on appetizers…or candy, as the case may be.

I approach my quest for experience with an enthusiasm seldom even remembered by those who long ago allowed wonder and novelty to fade. My newfound sexual liberation and empowerment manifest as freedom to meet and enjoy the company of men on a level I never previously imagined…and I’m diggin’ it. Does this make me overly promiscuous? Well, perhaps not overly; maybe just a little bit.

Promiscuity carries with it numerical requirements better realized in a bigger pond. Thus, my enthusiasm is constrained by geography, which I believe is keeping me out of trouble. Given my inexperience and apparently boundless enthusiasm, I undoubtedly would land myself in less than savory circumstances. Regardless, I’m always looking for ways to increase my travel budget because the best candy stores are some distance away.

If all these metaphors are confusing, I’ll try to be clear. Compared to many, I am a relatively inexperienced, newly out, gay man. Yet my enthusiasm is that of an adolescent. In seeking to broaden my experience, if I didn’t live at the head of the draw I would be considerably more sexually active.

As it is, I travel to meet male friends. Therefore, I have plenty of windshield time to ponder and fantasize my actions, and my carbon footprint sucks. But I am one enthusiastic lover after the rubber leaves the road and the engine is ticking as it cools. There I go with the metaphors again.