Three's a Crowd
Several years ago at a volleyball game in Golden Gate Park, I met a handsome Southern transplant who'd just relocated from Georgia. He had a killer body, a big smile, and a down-home friendliness - the rare type of guy I could picture dating.
I had crushed after him for months before I managed to secure a dinner date at a soul food restaurant. After a course of fried catfish, candied yams, and sweet tea, we went out for drinks in his neck of the woods.
That same night, my fresh-out-of-the-closet friend Craig finally mustered the courage to venture into a gay bar. Much to my surprise, he met us for drinks and proceeded to get quite drunk.
I was even more surprised when Craig brought my date home with him.
The experience cost me more than my composure, as I hightailed it home over the Golden Gate Bridge to the tune of a $500 speeding ticket.
Sadly, this turn of events has come to be as unsurprising as it is unamusing.
Just last year, I took to the streets in full costume on Halloween night, where I met up with the only two guys I had any remote interest in, both physically or romantically. Over the next several hours, I watched them discover they had more chemistry together, as their tongues interconnected like Avatars on the dance floor.
I bailed before I had to witness full consummation.
But the whole episode left me even more cynical - I'd been on the dating crazy train for so long, I was beginning to repeat experiences. I had officially reached syndication.