The Smooth Talker

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One night, I decided to go out on a Wednesday – very rare for me to go out on a weekday – to an LGBTQ+ night at a bar called Queenies or QS. I believe it was my first time attending their LGBTQ+ event if memory serves. I went alone because I have been an on-and-off regular at this bar for years and already knew a bunch of people that would be in attendance.

After a few drinks, a few friendly chats, and a few attempts at pole dancing (yes, this bar has a dance pole on their LGBTQ+ nights), a guy approached me. “Uh oh,” I instantly thought because I already had an inkling of what was going to happen, plus his eyes glued to my chest and his hungry smile made it quite obvious what his intentions were. 

He complimented my dancing, and I politely said thanks, hoping the conversation would stop right there and I could go back to mingling with my fellow queerdos. But no. He did not stop there. 

He went on, telling me how sexy I was and giving the sort of pickup lines you would expect on a night out. It began to get uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Almost suffocating. So, I did what I thought would get him to stop hitting on me: I told him that I’m a lesbian. For context, I identify as Pansexual so I guess it was a half-truth rather than a whole lie. Also, we were at a queer event so it would seem more believable.

And he did stop – but not before he said something along the lines of: “That’s too bad. If you weren’t a lesbian, I’d have fucked you.”

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I didn’t know what to say at the time so I pretended I saw a friend and excused myself. I honestly wanted to throw up at his gross comment. But instead, I bought a blowjob shot to drown that interaction into the back of my head and proceeded to mingle and dance.

The night was going smoothly once again after that unfortunate hiccup. Laughing, mingling, drinking, just having a blast! At some point, I sat down after some back-to-back dancing to rest – and guess who sat right next to me? That’s right! The Smooth Talker from before. 

God fuckin’ dammit!

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and sipping from our drinks, I felt his gaze piercing me, and he asked me, “Can I tell you a problem I have since you’re a lesbian?” I nodded, hoping that if I just listened to what he had to say, he would leave me alone and let me have my queer night out in peace.

What came out of his mouth next, I couldn’t believe. If the first interaction wasn’t cringey enough, this one nearly had me keeled over. He blathered on about how condoms didn’t fit him because he was so big and girthy. I have no idea if this was just another strange and uncomfortable way of getting me to have sex with him or whether he really thought this was appropriate to say to a “lesbian.” Regardless of what his reasons were, I wanted to hide in my hood and simply disappear.

I cannot exactly remember what happened after that but what I do remember is that he, at one point, tried to hook me up with his lesbian friend, a pretty lady who just wasn’t my type. He seemed to disappear after his matchmaking plans didn’t work.

In spite of this entirely uncomfortable interaction with this hell of a “smooth talker” – from his relentless flirtation, to his big genitalia problem, to his weird attempt at initiating a passionate night with his lesbian friend – there was a silver lining.

Before the night had ended, I reunited with an old one-night stand and went back to her place for a rematch.

Photos: Unsplash