Thursday evening, last week: I’m standing at the bar buying my round in a not-gay pub in Brighton when a man I’ve never met before starts talking to me in a way I am reluctant to categorise as “forward” until he moves in close, starts rubbing his hand up and down my chest, and tells me I’m “really really sexy”.
“And you’re a flirt,” I point out, smiling heterosexually.
“Noooooo!” he says, laughing ironically.
I’m almost tempted to give him a consolatory peck on the cheek, so grateful am I for some sexual interest from anyone of any persuasion, but I don’t.
Thing is, since I moved here, my gaydar has improved significantly and I’d say, from my quick browse of the videos of Ted Haggard that Andrew Sullivan has been hosting since this scandal blew up, that Haggard comes across like the kind of guy who would enjoy a massage from another guy, although in every other respect he seems deeply unpleasant.
Anyway, James, as his name turned out to be from our subsequent conversation, appears at our table at the end of the evening to say that the black bag he came in with has disappeared. Given that I have witnessed a lot of coat confusion in the packed venue this need not have been an incident of theft. So if you were in the Earth and Stars on Windsor Street on Thursday evening and picked up the wrong black bag then do get in touch with the pub because they’ve got his number—even if I haven’t.
How do you smile heterosexually?
It’s odd that James thought you were so sexy, because in reality you’re actually a hideous troll of a man, aren’t you, and simply thinking about your face has just made me repeatedly vomit.
Still, it takes all sorts, doesn’t it. Oh no, I’m going to be sick again.
It’s not something I can teach easily, but you just have to look at my devastating success with women to see how effective the technique can be once mastered.
It’s the smile: one of its inevitable but understandable side-effects is to repulse men.
It is one of life’s great mysteries how you manage to avoid being inundated with fawning, foaming female attention. I don’t think I’ll get in (much) trouble with Antoine if I say publicly that you were the only new guy I met in all of 2005 who I thought of as cute. I’m hoping your problem is just sky-high standards, in which case, it’s really no problem at all – just a matter of time.
That’s (again) very sweet of you to say so Jackie. I’ll Blu-tack your comment over my telephone to read during the next thanks-but-no-thanks.