Sapphosexual: Been there, Done That

In last week’s New York Observer, Shazia Ahmad wrote about straight New York women meeting every Sunday evening at a friend’s apartment and watching Showtime’s The L Word.  Is the L word just the latest female bonding, apple-martini-in-hand, Upper-West-Side type show to watch over at Lisa’s apartment?  Ms. Ahmad thinks this strong curiosity about the show is more than just the demise of Sex in the City. 

Call them Sapphosexuals: straight women with a twinge of curiosity, a natural penchant for flirting with their female friends, and a high dose of emotional frustration with the city’s crop of narcissistic metrosexual males who perennially fail the Prince Charming test.  Why not date a woman?

As a male, I’m the first one to admit that men suck.  And they’re mostly ugly.  Who wouldn’t want to date a woman? 

A few years back, my relationship with a girlfriend went kaput.  Well, actually, she kaput-ed me.   I was angry and depressed.   But I had a life-changing moment.  I realized that I didn’t understand women and I never would. 

Ever.

I would try to become gay. 

Hey, I like guys.  I’m comfortable with them.  I understand them.  They’re not as high-maintenance, not as emotional high-strung, they like fart jokes, and according to Harvard presidents, are  better in science. 

I was living in West Hollywood and gay life was all around me.  I asked my friends Sean and Jaipur to take me out on the town.  Sean and Jaipur had been together for six years and were as cool as cool could be.  They were going to be role models in my learning to be gay.   I was going to be their Eliza Doolittle.  (if you are a male and don’t know what I’m referring to, you are definitely not gay).

That night, we went to one Weho (West Hollywood) club after another.  I wasn’t ready to dance yet or talk to anyone, but I was slowly letting my head bop to the disco-like tunes.  Unfortunately, the waitress was really hot and was distracting me from becoming gay.  There was also something disgusting about sweaty men dancing.  Sweaty women dancing are sexy.  Sweaty men aren’t, no matter how tight the shirt or abs.

I had to constantly remind myself that I wanted no more part of this other, estrogen-crazed sex — WOMEN, despite any cleavage they may have.   Wasn’t it Helen who was the cause of Troy’s fall?   

It was nice being with guys — rational, fun guys.   Maybe some of these guys were a little more concerned about appearance than my usual male friends. I had never been around so many pastel-colored tank-tops before, but this was a few years before any "straight" guy would let any "Queer" guy throw out his old bowling shirts on TV.

And then something happened that destroyed for me all the glamour of me becoming gay.  Sean and Jaipur started arguing.  It seemed as if Jaipur had forgotten to be home earlier that day when the dishwasher repairman showed up.

"Just like you, Jaipur.  Always irresponsible."

"And what about you?  Didn’t you say you were going to mail that birthday gift to my mother?  When I got home, it was still on the table.   But I didn’t say anything to you to make you feel bad.   Did I?  Did I?"

"You’re saying it now."

"Damn right I’m saying it now."

As the conversation heated up, I realized that if you put two men together long enough they will start acting just like a straight couple.   It wasn’t worth becoming gay, if I can get the same crap from a woman.   

This is why I whole-heartedly support gay marriage.  I say spread the torture around.    

As for the Sapphosexual group at Lisa’s apartment on 78th and Broadway, dream on.  If you think life as two females is going to be fun, think about this — the sex might be interesting, but which one of you is gonna take out garbage?