Get Used To Us
“Hey, are you gay?” the man asked, grinning wide enough to give his gums a sunburn. I’m not, but it was a fair enough question — I was walking through the East Village in a white linen jacket on the Friday before the Pride parade.
“Uh, no, not yet,” I responded. He wore an large navy blazer over a spectacularly filthy t-shirt. Scabs adorned the corners of his smile. He held an overstuffed shopping bag in his arms, cradling it like an infant.
“Want to give it a chance?” he asked, stepping closer.
“What, now? With you?”
“Well, yeah, I mean, I’ve got all these condoms here,” he said, and tipped the shopping bag towards me. It was bulging, brimming, boiling over with condoms in every color of the rainbow. “We could …”
I cut him off. “Look, dude, we’re not gonna go off and use all those condoms together. Even if I was curious, I just don’t have that kind of time. As it stands, it’s been 32 years and I think I’m all set as a straight guy.”
“Hey, okay!” he said, real chipper, and rolled on down the street to find someone else to share his enormous latex bounty.
This photo was taken in my kitchen — my roommate started celebrating Pride a little early this weekend, and left a display for me. I wish I could have gone to the parade with him, but this little diorama sums it up nicely.
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June 29th, 2008 at 4:47 pm
I think the next time I show up at my girlfriend’s place, I’m going to have a grocery bag full of condoms.
Although, with my luck, her mom will be in town, and I’ll get shot in the face or something.
July 28th, 2008 at 9:50 pm
haha, that’s a wonderful story! too bad you didn’t get to go to the parade. nice decoration though!