Mean Gays

A Messy Meditation for Midweek

My boyfriend and I had been enjoying the nightlife in Fort Lauderdale and walked out of a gay bar in Wilton Manors trying to decide where to go next. As we stood out on the sidewalk, a good-looking, but pretty drunk, twink was puffing on his vape near us. Every so often, he’d glare uncertainly in our direction. Finally, he looked straight at me, rolled his eyes, and said, “you’re not that big a deal.” Without skipping a beat, I replied, “no, I’m not. I’m actually pretty insecure and have real self-esteem issues.” Boy, that shut him up fast. Clearly flustered, he found no quippy, cutting retort to belittle me after I had already belittled myself.

If I really wanted to mess with him, I could’ve said, dom-top eyes staring piercingly into his fragile soul, “oh honey, we both know I’m a big deal and you’re intimidated by it,” as I flexed one of my massive biceps and hugged my gorgeous twink boyfriend with the other. But that’s not me. I was a 50-year-old, grown man who had no desire to be petty and childish. This boy was clearly insecure himself and was projecting his baggage onto me to make himself feel better. I detected right away that he was a mean gay, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his nonsense.