Thursday, August 24, 2006
None of that Gay Talk!
Steve offered to drive me home from brunch; he lived not far from where I lived. “We were just kind of shocked,” he said in his heavy Brooklyn accent. “I, for one, always thought you were really gay…I mean, not that you look it, but it seemed that you made it clear that, you know, you knew what you wanted. But I think I know who this girl is – she’s the one with the blonde hair and the great tits…she’s totally hot. And, if she’s like all the other Russian girls, she’s amazing in bed. They’re like monkeys, every night’s like fucking starring in your own porn movie.”
I was a little taken aback with the different way that Steve and later, other expatriate men would relate to me, now that I was embraced by the heterosexual brotherhood. Conversations, I supposed, would be taking on something of a locker-room character. “Also, I love the way they shave their pussies, sometimes in different shapes down there, you know, one girl I know used to do hers in a the shape of a question mark.”
I didn’t know what to say. I said the first thing that came to mind. “Everyone seems to shave here, no? Uzbek men shave their balls.”
Steve had a pained look on his face with that. “No man, please!” He interjected, “can we not talk about balls …we were talking about pussies, I’m not into ball talk. Plus, I’m sure Yulia’s not too thrilled about that.”
“I’m sure Yulia knows about me,” I said. “You know the first time we ever talked, which was at Lucky Strikes, she thought that the guy I was talking with was my boyfriend. And even the night we slept together, earlier that evening, she kept asking me if I liked boys.”
“Well what did you tell her?” Steve asked.
“I dunno Nothing…I just told her that I wanted to be with her.”
“Listen here,” Steve said in a deadpan earnest tone. “I know the local girls here pretty well. They like a gay best friend for girl talk and all, but that’s not who they want to be fucked by – do you understand me?”
“Yeah…”
“You sure?” He stopped the car and looked at me very seriously. Steve wasn’t the smartest guy I knew. Not terribly ambitious, content teaching third grade at the International school for the past five years and getting drunk the rest of the time. But it seemed to me that he had a good point here. I hadn’t been terribly up front with Yulia with the fact that I was a gay man who happened to be sleeping with a woman; she had skirted around that question early on in the beginning, and I had never given her a straight answer. ¶ 4:10 AM
Steve offered to drive me home from brunch; he lived not far from where I lived. “We were just kind of shocked,” he said in his heavy Brooklyn accent. “I, for one, always thought you were really gay…I mean, not that you look it, but it seemed that you made it clear that, you know, you knew what you wanted. But I think I know who this girl is – she’s the one with the blonde hair and the great tits…she’s totally hot. And, if she’s like all the other Russian girls, she’s amazing in bed. They’re like monkeys, every night’s like fucking starring in your own porn movie.”
I was a little taken aback with the different way that Steve and later, other expatriate men would relate to me, now that I was embraced by the heterosexual brotherhood. Conversations, I supposed, would be taking on something of a locker-room character. “Also, I love the way they shave their pussies, sometimes in different shapes down there, you know, one girl I know used to do hers in a the shape of a question mark.”
I didn’t know what to say. I said the first thing that came to mind. “Everyone seems to shave here, no? Uzbek men shave their balls.”
Steve had a pained look on his face with that. “No man, please!” He interjected, “can we not talk about balls …we were talking about pussies, I’m not into ball talk. Plus, I’m sure Yulia’s not too thrilled about that.”
“I’m sure Yulia knows about me,” I said. “You know the first time we ever talked, which was at Lucky Strikes, she thought that the guy I was talking with was my boyfriend. And even the night we slept together, earlier that evening, she kept asking me if I liked boys.”
“Well what did you tell her?” Steve asked.
“I dunno Nothing…I just told her that I wanted to be with her.”
“Listen here,” Steve said in a deadpan earnest tone. “I know the local girls here pretty well. They like a gay best friend for girl talk and all, but that’s not who they want to be fucked by – do you understand me?”
“Yeah…”
“You sure?” He stopped the car and looked at me very seriously. Steve wasn’t the smartest guy I knew. Not terribly ambitious, content teaching third grade at the International school for the past five years and getting drunk the rest of the time. But it seemed to me that he had a good point here. I hadn’t been terribly up front with Yulia with the fact that I was a gay man who happened to be sleeping with a woman; she had skirted around that question early on in the beginning, and I had never given her a straight answer. ¶ 4:10 AM
