Now that headlines are filling up with support for equal rights, hate for fried chicken and blogs with “gays should be loved, too” cries, there’s a matter surrounding homosexuality I’d like to address.
It’s the act and facade that is expected from a gay man by straight people.
A gay man must, at some point, be someone’s gay best friend (GBF).
This is something I have always tried to avoid. I’m more of a scratch-my-privates, hide-my-emotions kind of guy.
And though I tried otherwise, my friends always consisted of women and that needed to change.
Three years ago I joined a fraternity. I was slowly on my way to becoming the frat-star I never wanted to be. Finally, the void in my life that could only be cured with a dose of testosterone was filled.
I was lucky to find a group of guys that I could drink with, hang out with and talk to.
They had no idea about my sexual orientation; if anything, I was the guy with the great dance moves, great game and all the ladies.
I was beyond swagger.
The day then came when I found the courage to come out to my fraternity. My thought process was, “They’ve known me long enough, they won’t treat me differently.”
Finally, I did it, as an announcement during chapter.
I remember the faces of extreme shock, the giggles from the ones waiting for the “JK” and the ones who missed the whole thing while absorbed by their smartphones.
It’s sad to say it was never the same afterward.
I waited for the verbal abuse and hazing to start, but it never came.
Instead, a new kind of friendship emerged. I was the GBF to more than 50 straight men.
This was unexpected and unwanted but very much appreciated.
My straight male friendship circle expanded outside my fraternity, and I found something all our friendships had in common: an ulterior motive.
Every time I was invited to a bar, club or any other social gathering, I found that there was a performance expected from me.
Somehow, I have a group of girls dancing around me, and I’m always asked for my secrets on getting women. It’s easy.
I’m a Hispanic gay man. I can dance. I can salsa. It’s in my DNA.
What chick doesn’t like that?
And because of my “gay powers,” I’m officially my straight friend’s GBF wingman.
This is how it works.
My friend goes up to a girl.
“Hey, I’m ___! And this is my friend Stephen.He’s GAY!”
Then they perform some sort of PDA, saying, “Yeah, I have a gay friend …”
At first sight, most women can’t tell I’m gay and assume that my friend is lying, and this is where my flamboyant facade begins.
I say something like, “OH EM GEE, you look so cute in that shirt. Oh, you two make a cute couple! You should talk!”
I walk away, take a few shots and they hook up.
I never minded this.
That’s what friends are for.
I never minded the “does this make me gay?” questions, the “do you think I’m good-looking?” inquiries and the assumption that I would love to get out of my bed to see a rainbow.
It’s not just the guys, though. Women expect me to go shopping with them, consistently compliment them and sleep with their other gay friends.
No, thank you.
I know this is partly my own fault for allowing this to begin. I’ve always been a giver, but now that I’m graduating I keep wondering if it’s time to put my foot down.
I, along with many homosexual men in the world, do not fit the rainbow-loving, unicorn-riding stereotype. It is time for me to start receiving. Give me a couch, a beer and some Gator football, and I’m set.
Moral of the story: If your friend doesn’t meet a certain stereotype, don’t push him toward it.
Stephen Valdivia is a telecommunications junior at UF.
