OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter To Heterosexual People Who ‘Don’t Understand’ Homosexuality
Here are some simple contractual points we (Queer folks) can draw up, for you to mutually enter into with us
Dear Guardian Angels of Heteronormativity,
To be clear, I’m referring to all of you celestial saviors who claim to be keeping the cosmic balance of “complementary” unification in check. You know who you are.
You’re okay with our marriages, as long as they aren’t featured in the newspaper.
Or, you’re not okay with our marriages, and you’d be fine with seeing them dissolved because it would serve as an amusing anecdote during your dinnertime conversations.
You don’t believe we should adopt, because that would be more confusing to the kiddies than your white-collar trophy divorce was.
You’d prefer we not kiss or engage in other PDA (even though you seem to be fine with opposite-sex couples displaying the exact same behavior), because it’s “icky” whenever we do it.
You reduce our sex lives and political struggles to a cheap punchline on a soon-to-be canceled Chuck Lorre sitcom.
You keep your doors locked at night out of fear that we’re going to come in and redecorate your homes.
You’re afraid we’re going to fondle your kids.
You’re afraid we’re going to fondle you.
You’re afraid we’re going to fondle the local carwash attendant if they fail to use extra-slippery soap on everyone’s vehicles.
If you have the aforementioned hang-ups, trust us — we don’t want to be around you any more than you want to be around us. But in terms of practical areas of life, we usually have to find ways to coexist.
So let’s clear up several misconceptions…
First, I’ll do a preemptive Q&A:
(please substitute any female-oriented references, for any lesbian women whom you wish to likewise interrogate)
“How do you know you’re actually gay?”
They’re called hormones and pheromones. When I see attractive people of the same sex as me, I get aroused. Like, an erect penis. When I envision myself spending my life with someone else, he is someone who can relate to me on sexual and gendered levels.
Oh, and I fantasize about naked men when I spooge my syrup.
Hey, you asked…
“Why did you decide to be gay?”
I thought it would be more fun than learning how to crochet. Gawd, was I ever wrong!
“Are you going to flirt with straight guys just to make them uncomfortable?”
No.
“Are you going to forcibly ‘put the moves on’ straight guys whom you find to be attractive?”
No. And if another gay dude tries to pounce on you, sexually: I’ll distract him with my luscious ass and my rock-hard pecs, to give you enough time to make your escape, safely…
“Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”
As I told Crass Bumpkin Lady (aka “Gert”) who once asked me this in an elevator, back during my undergraduate days: for the first three decades of my life, I didn’t have to worry about this, because I was a virgin.
And, even in regard to my post-virginity life: I’m a “side,” so that puts me in a very low-risk category. If you haven’t heard of “side sex,” please read HERE and HERE.
On behalf of the gay and bisexual men who do enjoy anal-penetrative sex: I’m sure most of them are fully capable of using condoms. Many of them — GASP! — even use discerning standards before deciding to have sex with someone else.
But thank you for your concern, Susan Collins.
“Are you a ‘top’ or a ‘bottom’?”
Please refer to my previous answer, on “side sex.”
“I never would have mistaken you for gay.”
And I never would have mistaken you for a blithering idiot, until you opened your mouth…
“No, I wasn’t trying to offend you. You just don’t seem gay.”
Oh. Thanks. I plan on showcasing those chameleon-like abilities of mine when they revive Star Search.
“It’s too bad you’re gay. You’d make a great husband for me, or for my female friend/sibling/coworker.”
With all of these ridiculous questions and statements you’re flinging my way, I’m not so sure it’d be very pleasant being your husband.
“But, Eichy, you’ve never ‘been with’ a woman. You’ve never even tried it.”
Okay, how about we cut a deal? I’ll “try out” having sex with someone who has different genitals from my own, and you can “try out” piercing your untorpefied earlobe with a hypodermic needle. We’ll compare notes, afterward.
“Who pays for the meal, when you go on a date?”
You! Because I’m about to steal your wallet and run away with it, if you keep asking me these ridiculous questions.
Great, now that we’ve gotten all of that out of the way…
SOME ADDITIONAL RULES-OF-THUMB
1.) You can talk about people of the opposite sex whom you find to be attractive, openly, in front of me. I won’t be offended. Just don’t be surprised if I become equally as comfortable talking about people of the same sex whom I find to be attractive.
2.) Don’t try to fix me up with a friend/relative/classmate/acquaintance JUST BECAUSE he and I both happen to be gay. First, at least try to get a sense of whether you suspect he and I share any common interests or backgrounds. For example, whether he’s as lousy at crocheting as I am.
3.) If you have the urge to say “I’m not homophobic, but…” — just refrain from saying anything disparaging about gay people, and I’ll assume you’re not homophobic.
4.) Before you complain about the fact that gay pride parades and LGBT History Month exist — maybe consider doing a little more complaining about all of the angry parents who show up at school board meetings trying to censor anything that *isn’t* heterosexual from their little darlings’ curriculums.
5.) My fellow dudes: if we’re together in a locker room or restroom, changing clothes or peeing next to each other or showering out in the open — I promise you I’ll keep my hands completely to myself. Double-extra-promise.
6.) The line of “Not that there’s anything wrong with it” just isn’t funny. Stop saying it. Jerry Seinfeld can be a tool.
7.) I, individually, have no interest in fashion. I’m sartorially-challenged. But if you need tips on how to properly accessorize that belt with the right khakis — I’ll call in a favor, and then refer you to one of my pals in the Gay Mafia.
8.) Don’t ask me how old I am. I’m 32 in “gay years.” That would be my real age multiplied by 0.833333.
9.) Please quit flaunting your addiction to streaming endless episodes of 7th Heaven.
10.) And you don’t “agree with” my “lifestyle”? Well…
I don’t “agree with” your existence on this planet.
How about *THAT*?
love,
– Eichy
