This is what happened last night: I’m sitting with Christopher Frizzelle on a leather sectional in a new Belltown nightclub called Venom (formerly Medusa—apparently the woman has gone but her snakes are still around). The Viper, I mean Venom is big and there are lots of okay-looking people hanging around, drinking, and listening to rap. A group of young, slatternly women are sitting on the sectional across from us. One of them, who has big breasts, gives me the eyes. Embarrassed, I turn and look at people buying drinks at the bar. Nature calls Christopher, and he stands and leaves to go to the restroom. Suddenly I feel the heat of a hot body behind me. I look up, and it’s the woman with the breasts. She sits down next to me and there is no doubt in my mind that sex is on her mind. Her eyes say nothing but sex. She says, “Sorry to ask you this. But is your friend single?” “My friend Christopher,” I say with the coldness of a fish freshly pulled out of the Bering Sea, “is gay.”

“Damn, I always pick the gay ones,” she says, and leaves me just like that. More upsetting still, when I tell Christopher about the woman with the breasts, he says with great satisfaction, “Yes! I still got it!” Christopher, are you really gay? Did I lie to that horny woman with the big breasts? Why did her desire for you please you so?