Straight talk in a gay bar
by Vaughan Lovell 
And so this transsexual was asking me repeatedly, and somewhat forcefully, for my phone number the other night.
I feel compelled to share with you a rather amusing evening when I ventured out on the town and into a gay bar with some mates.
How did we end up at this gay bar, with transsexuals requesting dalliances and the like? A quick montage of preceding events should suffice.
We began at home, playing poker and having a quiet drink. This lead to the desire to head out to town and have a few more quiet drinks in a louder environment.
This lead to the desire to venture further, so we headed for K Road.
After a moment or two perusing the bars, we decided K Road had nothing to offer us, but we couldn’t go home yet - it was far too early.
Our mission to party led to the bold and repeatedly rationalised decision to venture into the gay bar over the road.
So after that rapid series of events, there we are on the other side of the fence, as it were.
We walked in to the bar amidst gazes which suggested we looked slightly out of place.
Not that I am suggesting we were trying to be rude or offensive, it’s just that we were pushing our usual boundaries of what we were used to, and we didn’t want to attract the attention of any would-be suitors - hell, I have a girlfriend!
We purchased some beers and found the blaring 80’s disco soundtrack a bit much for our liking, so we ventured back toward the entrance and outside to the smokers area.
Soon enough, some friendly folk came and went, having a good chat and amusingly commenting on our out-of-sorts appearance. This made us feel more comfortable, as we felt accepted.
Like I say, we really didn’t want to offend anybody out of genuine good manners, and were conscious of doing so inadvertently.
Eeventually a very camp Swedish guy and his lady friend came over and and started chatting to us, and we thought to ourselves that this wasn’t so bad - we were men of the world having a perfectly good old time.
Then, somehow, I ended up speaking to the female friend, and it quickly transpired that she was indeed not a female, but a male - originally, at least.
I asked her how much of a man she was, which I think was interpreted in the wrong way- in several wrong ways, in fact. All I meant was how much of a man she was ‘medically’.
This turned out to be part insult, part invitation I would later learn.
My back was to the wall, and I felt bad for being inadvertedly rude, yet at the same time fearful.
Would this person beat me up? Would this person give me an ear bashing for my discriminatory ignorance? I feared the worst.
But no, no harm was done. However, I now realised I was by myself talking to the lady, and somehow my good will and politeness had made an impression.
She asked for my number not once, not twice, but three times. A lady would never usually do this to me in a bar, and my lucky night was now not so lucky.
Regardless, I do have a girlfriend, and had no intention of meeting anybody except said girlfriend later the following day. This I told the overly friendly lady in front of me. However, it didn’t prevent the incessant requests, which evolved to pretty scary demands for my number.
I politely diffused the conversation and slid out to the front of the bar where we decided that it was all very interesting, but agreed we’d had our adventure for the night and should now go home.
So that was my gay bar experience: it was both very funny but also, admittedly, a touch too alien for me and the fellas.
I think that me and the lads are now probably more worldly wise, and while I repeat that we have no qualms about homosexuality whatsoever, I feel it is best to end this tale with this all-encompassing phrase: boys will be boys.