Fag of the Week

“My name’s Kevin. I’m a submissive male. I don’t charge anything. I’ll come to your house and clean, do laundry, dishes. I just like being ordered around.”

I kind of want to tell him to go buy me a pack of gum, but that would probably encourage him. I want him to know I totally get and respect his lifestyle choice. I don’t want to shame him, but god, I want him to go away.

Ryan’s the Fag of the Week at Fag Machine this week. I’m blowing off a bathroom interview to be part of his entourage. Ryan doesn’t even like the gays. He gets complimentary bottle service. He’s not even drinking.

I tell Kevin thanks, and that if I think of anything for him to do I’ll let him know.

“I think you’re really cute. Can I at least get your number?”

There’s something really wrong and obscene about someone Kevin’s age – like, 48? – calling you cute.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t give anyone my number. I don’t even have a phone.” I realize I’m actually holding my phone in my hand as I’m saying this and try to hide it.

This is my punishment, I think. This is what you get for liking too many boys – the doorman, the bartender – who don’t ever remember you, and for ignoring the boys who do like you.

“When am I going to be fag of the week?” I ask.

“When you do something to deserve it,” says the DJ.

This is what you get for being cruel. This is what you get for trying to play both sides against the middle. Eventually, both sides end up playing against you. And you end up with guys like Kevin.