tainted love

Some girls like boys who like boys. I'm not one of them, but I have been known to act as an unwitting closeted-fag magnet. Once I fell at first sight for someone who waited until after our wedding to make full sexual disclosure. I don't know if the death of a living being can be compared to that of a passion. Mine, which had been overpowering, went down like a rebel: slowly, bitterly, fighting every step of the way. I loved but could no longer lust; hated myself, then him; thrust multiple daggers into his heart, then into my own.

Never Again I swore as I walked away a couple of years later. Tristan was next and more of the same, i.e. instantly beguiling. This time though I identified him and cut him loose early. Proud, beautiful, heretofore unrejected Tristan couldn’t fathom it: Can’t You See We're Meant To Be Together? was his baffled cry as he pursued me for months, even trying to oust the hottie with the heart of gold and the high-octane libido who took his place. A year later, he came out.

My friends at the time theorized I have an inner fag who sometimes leads me into a quadruple mating dance, in which two actors playing a straight man and a straight woman bait one other while the real deal goes down between the two homo understudies. It sounded plausible, so I took to doubting the nature of my attractions and greeting all suitors point-blank with Are You Gay??

Guessing my inner fag to be trapped in the closet, I decided to emancipate him when international gay pride day rolled around. I needed him to get out there and get laid without me; or at least without my heart, which remains that of a woman.

But then I changed my mind: while I am a diehard faghag, I am also certain I ain't harboring no homo. In fact, that theory is beginning to sound a lot like the child molester when he said the little girl came on to him first. What it boils down to is some are bluffing, others aren't. I say come out come out wherever you are, and quit playing dirty pool.