He said this was the best place to start. That’s how I found myself across the table from him. He was wearing a tan hooded sweatshirt and held a trivia card is his left hand. I always wondered what this would be like. I asked him what I should call him but he said it was better that I didn’t know his name. He told me to call him “Matt.”
I took a heavy swig of the crap beer that I was drinking and reached for the hot sauce. He said, “I don’t know who the 1984 Olympic Gold Medal winner is for Diving,” and placed the trivia card back in a pile with the others. Our waitress set another grease-stained basket of wings on our table offered us napkins. I looked up and said, “you have the best tits I have ever seen. I mean, seriously, they’re amazing. They look like hot pieces of milk fleshy goodness. Girl, they must have cost you a fortune.”
“Matt” said nothing.
She paused, smiled, and then leaned in and said, “they didn’t cost ME,” – really emphasizing the “me”- “a thing,” giving me some candid look to reassure me that they were a gift. She then brushed her California blonde hair back behind her shoulder and shook her breasts a little, giving them a solid bounce that seemed to come like a ripple from the torn seam of her tight tank top; she giggled slightly, as if she felt confident that she had done something extraordinary, and turned off for another table. “Matt” and I both stared at her ass in her tight orange shorts.
I looked back at “Matt” who was hung with an expression of bemusement and anger. “You really do get away with saying a lot of shit,” he said. I just smiled.
I thought for a second, and yeah, I do get away with saying pretty much anything. At a dinner party, I once said, “all this talk about AIDS is making me horny,” and I once gave a female friend this dating advice: “go out there and get fingered in a Big Lots Parking Lot.”
That’s how I found myself playing trivia at a Hollywood Hooters with “Matt.” A lot people react to the shit that comes out of my mouth with the following statement: you only get away with that because you’re queer. I also get: no straight guy could ever say that. And I admit, I get away with saying quite a bit of nonsense, but I never thought it was because of a bias. I determined that in order to really understand the world, I needed to understand the straight man’s point of view. So over pitchers of beer and baskets of wings, “Matt” and I exchanged the secrets of our everyday. The world of periods, pregnancy scares, and not being allowed into the ladies dressing rooms were all foreign concepts to me. Crap beer, Hooters Trivia, and not shopping a Macy’s – all these things were common place for “Matt.” When we agreed to meet up, I thought I would satiate this straight man need, close the chapter on my wonderment, and continue writing on this site, no longer confused about this straight divide. But as we closed out our tab with a shot of Jack Daniels, I knew that I wasn’t complete; there was a void in me burning for more straight man. I knew I wanted more. But what? But how?
When I returned to my home, I was plagued with conflict. How could I fully relate to the world? How could I be a voice of reason without the straight man? I called out to the world, desperately gripping to a confused hope. I was forlorn and empty.
Then, all of a sudden, the room started to spin, and a bright light consumed my vision. My body felt weightless, and through a chaos of noise I heard a single voice. It was God himself. He had taken time out from dealing with HIV in Africa to offer me an epiphany. It was epic and intense. It was magical. When my senses returned to my corporeal being, and I picked myself off the floor, I knew what I needed to do.
I called “Matt” immediately and proposed an idea, “Why don’t you contribute to let-me-get-this-queer? It’s a place for us all to share our point of views, and the world needs yours.”
He was silent for a moment and then with the most subdued excitement, said “yeah sure.”
And at that moment: Let Me Get This Straight: Damn Straight was born.
So the experiment begins. I hope you all will join me in welcoming the straight guy, “Matt,” to our site. He will be a regular contributor and his point of view will echo the chorus of voices that come together to poke fun at the world.
I recently asked him what he thought of all of this gay bullying. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “bullying is for faggots.”