Queer Chronicles entry ©2004

Queer Chronicles by Kenneth Allen, ©2004

September 12, 2004

When In Balti-Ho!

Last time I was in Baltimore a group of us drove down to work with a friend, meeting her at the bar where she moonlights. Last time, an affected co-worker of hers flitted into the small party that had developed. Rude to me; rude to the other gay man at the table; pretending to be sexually interested in our other friend, the girl that came with us. No offense toward her. Geez! I’m pretty fuckin’ gay and even I think she’s HOT. Grrrraaaaow! When the flitter floated away, we – the pair of queens – asked her, “So who’s the gay guy?” She emphatically denied it. She went on and on about how gay men think everybody’s gay. We explained that this was no such thing – our gaydars kept ringing and it was Dial-A-Queer every time. Long story short: by the end of the evening, e.g., three shots later, he pulled her aside and confessed he only likes boys … he thinks.

But that was last time.

This time, I don’t have the gay friend with me but still have the straight girl. We’re relaxing at the bar where she works – it’s still pretty early. Straight girl that came with me pulls out a magazine and shows it to our Baltimorean bartender. She in turn, takes the magazine and turns to a certain page, as directed, to see the pretty Jude Law pictures. They stare at the pages, cooing and writhing away. It’s sweet.

Some waiter from downstairs wondered through. I was barely paying attention, staring into space. I suddenly thought of something I needed to ask. I turn to do so and am met with, “Straight, Ken. He’s straight. Don’t even go there!” Well, I hadn’t been there and indeed had no plans of going. Again, it was some blonde, skinny 19 year old. And I prefer men. I’m pushing 40, so you have to be a minimum of 30 before I’ll even think about doing you. – and that’s just thinking! Of course, I had no defense for her because all I cared about was my question, of which I could no longer remember. She scoffed.

Profiling. That’s what it is.

Some time later when my two girlfriends wondered away, I was again staring down the bar aimlessly when something caught my eye: the girls had left the magazine on the counter. I could go peek but unless J-Law shows nipple, I don’t want the frustration. Then I notice an even smaller detail: something on the magazine. Apparently, the girls had shed four or five drops of wine on the photo of Jude who, surprise!, is showing exactly one nipple – and going out of his way to do so, I might add. But this is about the wine drops. I blotted them with care because if it were my magazine, I’d want it protected. Of course the pages had to dry out so I couldn’t turn them to check the rest of the “spread,” damn it! Instead, I got the great idea that when they came back, I could tease them about drooling over Mr. Law. I wondered to a table across the bar, snagged my book, and lurked.

Without my realizing it, the blonde boy returned. I noticed him because this time he didn’t just walk through – he parked himself in front of that Cosmo spread and stared at the single-nipple teaser page for a full minute and a half. And if you think that’s not long, get your watch and try it. Then he turns to the page after. I can see there’s no more pictures. He turns backward two pages. Ah, there’s more. You can see it in his face. But they obviously weren’t as good as the come-milk-me look to which he promptly returned for more staring. He ogled another minute or so, I lost count. I was having enough trouble trying to pretend I was still reading.

I tell you what. There’s something in the water at the bar where my friend works.

When the blonde boy was long gone, I double-checked the page layout and sure enough, nipple shot was truly the best one. I can see why it stopped him. I lingered, even though by this point I was J-Law’s fourth bitch of the day.

Well, when you’re in Baltimore …