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"The online 'bottoms' sign-up sheet was all filled up! If I wanted to sail with the boys on this gay Noah's ark, I had to maybe fib to myself a little."The event, which was held in the confines of a cavernous bar downtown, had a surprisingly large turnout. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.
I happened to be one of the first guys to register with the organizer, and I took the opportunity to grab a beer and watch the men herd into line to register like cattle to the slaughter."Are you a top or a bottom? "Once everyone had registered, our organizer separated us into our respective groups. Whereas I tried to look as though I had just gotten off my fancy job as a writer, a majority of the men looked as though they had just left their shift at Aeropostale. Why were they dressed like that dude from high school who always tries to sell you knives when you run into him every trip back home?
" the organizer asked one man, who responded with a nervous chuckle. If you learn anything from me at all, it's that you should always dress how you want to feel, not how you actually feel.
There was a drizzle of uneasy laughter from the men in line. To be blunt, most of the men on either side (including me) were average-looking -- sometimes aggressively so.
These men weren't the living mannequins you see gliding on the roller skates of their good looks through Chelsea.
(I'd like to go on record and say those men are horrible, and the human equivalent of a parfait.) The men here were normal dudes: mostly over 30, and mostly in custody of faces I almost instantly forgot.
Have you ever been at a party and realized, with a cold sweat and a shiver of dread, that you were the smartest one in the room?
It's happened to me once before; I realized that if I was the smartest person in the room, then we were all screwed.
That's how I imagine this gentleman felt, except that instead of being the smartest man in the room, he was the best-looking.