This Is A Gay Bar, So Why Is That Man Hitting On Me?

I was feeling a little smug.

On a Monday night, in a gay club, someone tried to pick me up. There were three crucial elements to this. It was a man, he was straight, and he was cute.
At first I thought I might just have some outstanding man-attracting skills, some extra special female pheronomes. After all, it’s no big deal for a woman dressed to kill to garner some male attention over the weekend. But meeting a man who wasn’t hideous, on a Monday, while wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, at a gay club seemed pretty impressive, even if I say so myself.
I’d like to think it was my charm – after all it was my charm that had gotten me invited there in the first place. Granted, I had come from my Monday evening “Wine Appreciation Society” meeting where perhaps I’d been a little overly enthusiastic in my appreciation of the devil’s elixir. And indeed the fact that it was a Monday, when most sensible people head home at a reasonable hour, instead of talking politics with random strangers can have had nothing to do with it. Surely not? At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
My friend Colin accuses me of being a fag hag, and admittedly the evidence is on his side. After all, I do go to gay bars at least once a week. This is not because I am a fag hag. No – I’m perfectly happy spending time with straight men too, more than happy, if the truth be told. Nor do I have unrequited feelings and secret sexual longings for gay men. I just happen to have a lot of gay and lesbian friends.
I blame this partly on Mr Dermod Moore, aka Boot Boy, former columnist with this fine publication.
“You’re like Patient Zero in a gonorrhoea outbreak,” I told him.
“What a lovely charming thought,” he replied. But it’s true – he introduced me to one person, who introduced me to another, who introduced me to a third and so on. After a while I hit some sort of critical mass and quite by accident I ended up with a number of gay and lesbian friends.
Straight men don’t congregate in large numbers in gay bars. However, there are a few and those that do are easily spotted. This isn’t because these men look uncomfortable or are comparatively badly dressed – although that is sometimes the case – it’s the way they scrutinise women as they walk past.
I was telling Dermod about my Monday evening conquest when he made an interesting observation – that meeting a straight man in a gay club would tell you two important things about him: firstly, that such a man was comfortable with his sexuality and secondly, he wasn’t out on the pull.
The first point I had to agree with. A straight man who is happy enough to party in gay clubs is unlikely to be the kind of person who makes jokes about keeping his back against the wall, and that’s an important quality to me. I don’t date sexists, racists or homophobes; I don’t want to have flings with them either.
The second, well, personal vanity notwithstanding, I’m not so sure. After all, gay bars attract numerous straight, semi-straight and bi-curious women. This gave me pause to wonder – given the ratio of straight men to straight women in gay bars, perhaps it’s a little like shooting fish in a barrel? Are fag stags – straight men who have gay friends and spend time in gay bars – on to something?
A quick search on Google seemed to confirm the idea. There were articles and posts galore recommending gay bars as havens for men looking to meet women. A good few Irish men seem to have cottoned onto the idea as well, if the posters on Boards.ie are anything to go by.
“The best point about gay clubs, strangely, is the abundance of HOT women. There are loads of unattended straight wimminz,” posted one gentleman. Others agreed. “Girls are way more approachable… I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a gay club where I didn’t have a great night and end up with a girl.”
“I knew two guys who used to do that,” said my friend Ruiri. “Their brother is gay and they were always hanging around the clubs trying to pick up women.”
“Did it work?” I wanted to know.
“Let’s put it this way – they needed all the help they could get.”
Ugliness is certainly not Edward’s problem – he’s a very a pretty boy. Like me he ended up with a number of gay and lesbian friends by accident instead of design and spends a great deal of his time socialising in situations where being heterosexual is a minority pursuit.
“At first I was like, ‘What are the social norms? I have no map for this territory. Fuck it, I’ll learn.’ It was the same social anxiety of any new thing, but within thirty minutes I felt totally comfortable.”
Ah, fair enough but what I wanted to know was this – being that rarity, a straight man in a gay bar, does he find it easier to speak to women?
Edward was a little cagey. “Well, I’ve made loads of friends at gay bars. I just find it really easy to speak to people there.”
“I’ve met loads of women in gay bars,” claimed Eoin. “It was a totally unexpected bonus. My trick is to assume that she is a lesbian but let her know I’m straight. If she’s straight most of the time she’ll start flirting with me.”
Eoin was frank about why this may be. “I don’t think it’s because I’m that great looking. I think it’s more that some girls need to prove something to themselves.”
“I always get hit on in gay bars,” claimed Charlie. “By girls!”
That’s because you look very straight I explained to him. He thought I meant that he had some sort of magnetic heterosexual aura, but the truth was slightly more prosaic – he has long hair, a look favoured by rockers, metal heads and neo-hippies, but rarely by gay men.
“I’ve been hit on by men too,” he said, somewhat miffed. “I don’t mind. It’s kind of flattering.”
“I’ve never been hit on in a gay bar,” complained Humphrey. “Should I be worried?”
Possibly, but probably not, I told him. After all, most straight women don’t go to gay bars to hit on men. To hit on women occasionally, yes, but most, like me, are there to spend time with friends without an ulterior sexual agenda.
You would think that spending my spare time in gay bars would have an adverse affect on my sex life, and you’d probably be somewhat correct at least in terms of the numbers. Fag stags aside, the numbers don’t stack up in my favour.
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, mostly because I go out a lot, but in the last month an excessive number of birthday parties, get-togethers and other events have meant that I’ve begun to feel a little like the token straight best friend.
“Only now? Really?” asked Tom.
“I can’t be hanging around as your SBF just to show everyone how open-minded you are,” I complained. “I’m not an accessory!”
“Tell it to your readers Sexton!” he replied.
Cheeky pup!