My Poor Roommate

I have spent considerable time with some of my gay friends recently. One night I got in particularly late, and this conversation occurred the following morning.

Roommate: What time did you get in last night?

Me: A little after 4:00.

Roommate: Holy cow! There must have been some cute girls!

Me: Haha...yeah.

Cute girls all right. :)

Meeting My Match

I suppose that life creates people who become filters for the unique aspects of their lives. Strong female rights activists see the world as one large feminist ordeal. People with eating difficulties constantly notice the prevalence of food in society. I have carried the burden (and blessing) of same-gender attraction, and thus I tend to see life for all of its gayness. I find homoerotic quotes in literature, I identify the stereotypically gay traits of my friends, and I even subconsciously (and occasionally consciously) probe people to fully determine the extent of their gayness. It's a mind game from which I derive much pleasure and occasional bits of knowledge.

The new university setting has been full of people to potentially probe (alliteration!), and thus I have been at my happiest. I was quite shocked, however, when my game granted atypical results. I have frequently been successful in identifying personal barriers and breaking points in my friends relative to "gay comfort" levels. (This is all done with much subtlety and tact, of course.) Thus, when I engaged in this mental pleasure of mine with a man to whom I was attracted, I was shocked to be led hand in hand to any depth that I dictated.

I met this guy (who needs a pseudonym...any suggestions?) through a mutual friend on campus, and we spent the first hours of our acquaintance on a dance floor where I was continually entreated to dance within his circle. I had no hesitation, and the night was quite enjoyable. Later that night, I was privileged to play my game with him, only to find that he matched my flirtation to every level that I took it. In fact, it was Mr. I-need-a-blogger-pseudonym who took it the furthest; he suggested the homosexual relationship between my dormitory, which is affectionately called "Bend Over Stover" and his own, "Gay May." I had been out-flirted gay style.

And then tonight, as we spoke, things escalated. We spoke of our childhoods. I was invited to visit his new house in Denver. He asked for my phone number. When a girl was taking a piece of fuzz off of my shirt, he asked if she needed help and began massaging me. I walked him to his dorm.

I may be at fault for mental embellishment, but I can't help but to notice that I have been matched or outdone by this guy in an flirtatious endeavor. And (un)fortunately for me, I am quite enamored with the boy. I could write an entire post on his excellent qualities, but I'll save that for a further development; I don't yet know if I'll be using his qualities to highlight the incredible man that he is or to lament his name. Time will tell.