Ming Na Scene, Ming Na Do
Out of the kindness of my cold, black heart, buoyed by the influence of an illicit substance, and nudged on by the reigning question of his sexuality, I invited Ming Na out clubbing with me Friday night. My last couple of trips to my favorite club haunt, The End Up, had proven less than satisfying. But my love of house music and gay sex remained strong, so I figured, why not beef up my next visit with something different to recapture that old magic?
And lest your mind lead you down dark paths to dirty places, I hasten to add that my intentions were 80% bonding-focused and only 20% sexual. I’d had far too chubby of a week to think I’d be scoring with anyone that night. (Though it always seems to be on those un-Nair-ed, workout-lapsed weekend nights that you get some play, have you noticed?)
Admittedly, my initial plan for our first bonding experience was along the more PG lines of seeing "Charlie & The Chocolate Factory". But ever the lazy ass and despiser of outdoors and others, I never got around to purchasing the tickets from work.
If it’s not online, I haven’t the time.
Besides, since his bedroom door was wide open with his televison audibly tuned in to the banal TGIF line-up, I felt Ming Na was sort of calling to me in his own silent, ESL way.
Had he been out clubbing? I asked
Only to some bars with co-workers, he confessed. What kind of club was it? he inquired.
A house club; it’s lots of fun, I responded, omitting the fact that, well, the name of the night was Fag Fridays.
In addition to the Christmas tree of characteristics alight on my person that highbeam my gayness (gay face, gay body type: emaciated female supermodel variety, gay voice, gay attitude, et. al.), I’d mentioned in my ad for the apartment that I was gay, so Ming Na knew. The closest clue I had to his orientation was the missing field pertaining to such in his Friendster profile–generally a tell-tale sign that someone’s inching towards battin’ for the Pink Team, if not up for a trial run.
A full-fledged night at the End Up was a bit like throwing him into the thick of it straight off, subjecting him to the ravages of the SF rice queens and all. But I had no time for Clubbing 101: The Cafe, nor would I dare fall prey to participation in the "coming out talk". With age comes wisdom, but not an improved attitude. I just expect that someone around my age would possess the wherewithal to know on which side of the sexual orientation fence they stand, and have a surface-level understanding of what that entails. I felt Ming Na was plenty old enough to be exposed to the gay club scene in its rawest form. I mean, it wasn’t like I was taking him to a bath house or anything. (Ick.)
And besides, I would be there by his side aptly guiding him along with uncharacteristic patience, as fueled by acute inebriation, profferring judgment on each order, genus, class, and species of homo that came along.
Likewise, while I’m no clothes horse, I could help out pre-show by flagging stark fashion faux pas for him. I have a notion of what looks good on a person, and could write a book on what so definitely does not. As someone who once freefalled into the club scene with half-attached glasses, dressed something like the clown from Stephen King’s "IT", I know whereof I speak, and have come a long way, baby.
I mean, I’m not so conservative as to completely avoid a little color, but I subscribe to the mantra of dressing in what looks best for you, not dressing for effect. Gay men often attempt that boy next door, A&F look when they go out, but at best only achieve a Bizarro world facsimile thereof. The boy next door doesn’t pluck his eyebrows into oblivion, nor boast surrealy-perfect facial-blessed skin, nor does he swing his shopping bags to and fro when out in public, personifying fey in a way that rigidly contrasts with such rugged, great outdoors-intended attire.
That’s not to say I do not fully and wholeheartedly endorse–nay, champion the getting of facials. Not in the least. But let’s cut the crap, Jan. Really.
Anyways, I ended up having to keep the aforementioned gems of wisdom to myself that night, as 12:30 proved to be too late for Ming Na to head out as he had to work the next day.
Go figure.
Still, there will always be next weekend. And with it, the renewed opportunity to apply a fresh, new coat of Nair. Mm mm good.
