I went out with the PTP (pretty Texas people) crowd where we ended up downstairs of Bowery Electric dancing like it was our jobs. I felt good. During my first trip to the bar, a guy bought me a drink. Score. Then they played one of my all-time favorites - Whitney Houston's "I want to dance with somebody." I.love.that.song. When I needed another drink, another guy approached me. Pop-u-lar.
We chatted for a few minutes before he introduced me to his co-worker, Guy Who Bought Drink #1. Ha.
Guy #2 joined the PTP crowd to dance. And dance he did. It was like he was my Dancing with the Stars instructor and I was Kate Gosselin trying to keep up.
I have never been dipped, spinned and picked up so much in my life. It got to the point where I was mildly worried he might rip off his clothes to showcase a full-body dancer's unitard or something.
After I snuck out before everyone else (the pizza place on my block doesn't stay open as late as the bars, IAAFA), he sent me this text: "Soooooo fun to have danced with you! - Andrew from tribeca!
Then the next day: "You're a fun dance partner."
That's all I was to him - a good dance. I feel like he used me for my body. But not in the way most guys would think to. You see, while he seemed perfectly nice, I got a certain vibe from him.
And it's not the first time. My gaydar is turned way up. It's gotta be thanks to the ambiguity of the manscaping, metro movement. Mani/pedis, eyebrows, and Jack Spade bags; it's a whole other world from Texas. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
This is where my newest theory comes into play: "Gay until proven straight." If within the first encounter I can't be certain if a guy is playing on my team, it's time to move on. Maybe twinkle toes is totally hetero, but I don't care enough to find out.
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