Apparently straight people think gay people are narrow, or at least uninspired.
It’s a rather strange misconception because, in all areas but one, breeders definitely think that we’re a rowdy bunch.
The heterosexual image of the typical homosexual: We all dress in form-fitting jeans that were probably designed for women, and we smoke everything that can be smoked, provided we can smoke it in the shape of a phallus — cigarettes, cigars, joints, pipes, bananas … well, bananas are just for practice because they aren’t really worth the calories.
We snort angel dust with fabulous famous women … well, at least until our fabulous physiques drive the fabulous women into anorexia. And then we deposit Mary-Kate on The Enquirer’s doorstop and move on to Ashley.
We only have intercourse in groups of four or more, and we do that at least eight times per week.
We eat an all-organic diet, supplemented with whey powder and superfood. Of course we’re all taking the same Winsor Pilates class on Sunday mornings instead of going to church.
We’ve got hair that defies gravity, with a composition that’s at least 40 percent product.
And we never, ever get married. What straight people don’t know is that when gay people are initiated into the cult of narcissism, we drink from the Fountain of Youth. We never get married because we stay forever young.
If I were straight, I’d be a little jealous, frankly.
On the flip side, gay folk definitely have stereotypes of their own about the unfortunate futures of our less-than-frisky friends.
From my perspective, straight people are like all our grade school football coaches and cheerleader moms. The day after commencement, they get married in Battell Chapel, have their reception at Toad’s and become immediately pregnant in the Honeymoon Suite of the Courtyard Marriott. At least the woman does. The man stops playing organized sports, but he doesn’t stop drinking beer. So his gut gain parallels his knocked-up wife’s blooming belly in rather eerie symmetry.
They send their 13 children to Catholic school for 13 years (the straights always get held back a grade while the gays end up at Yale).
They throw intimate parties with bowls of Chex Mix and boxes of blush Franzia. And when they’re drunk enough, groups of four or fewer might get half-naked in the hot tub. If things are getting really crazy, someone might pinch a bottom in front of company.
They eat hot dogs (the one dietary item we have in common) and hamburgers, and then they have hotburger hamdog casserole for dinner the next day. They feel guilty all week until they go to confession on Sunday. Then they can hop immediately into bed with their spouse for a once-monthly reminder of what was.
I know a lot about straight people. For a while I pretended I was one. Gross.
But here’s the clincher: most heteros are still under the impression that gays are uninventive. Given the rock-solid and totally-true stereotypes, it’s pretty clear which group is having more fun. So what is it about our hedonistic lifestyle that screams bad sex?
Perhaps I should be more specific.
And, Mom, perhaps you should stop reading here. Really. We’re entering serious overshare territory now.
I haven’t done a scientific study, so I can’t recite the fourth quartile or illustrate the outliers, but I can reveal to you my very anecdotal but still rather disturbing revelation: Straight people think there’s one gay sex position. And only one. And the wrong one.
If there is a gay standard, it’s not the one you’re thinking.
Granted, I don’t think they do a lot of critical thinking about the subject. But when you ask the average straight girl what gay sex looks like, she’ll probably paint a picture that resembles my amorous puppy on your alluring leg.
Wrong. Thank you for playing. Better luck next time.
The gold standard for gay sex, just like straight sex, is the missionary position. That’s right, you heard me correctly. Gay people have sex face-to-face. Every now and again it happens doggie-style, and probably more often than heterosexuals indulge their canine whims, but that’s definitely the exception.
My Four Liberal Open-Minded Female Friends: Whaaa!?
Friend Number One: (stares blankly. In shock. Medical shock … not electric.)
Friend Number Two: (screams and passes out.)
Friend Number Three: But that’s mind-blowing!
Friend Number Four: Wait, how is that possible?
Come on, girls, think about it. Assume your own missionary position. Go ahead, on the floor, on your bed, I don’t really care, on the kitchen counter so long as you disinfect afterwards. Good. Now roll your hips a couple of inches backwards. Just like that.
Friend Number Two: (already on the floor from passing out) Like this?
Yes. Just like that.
Friend Number One: (emerging from shock) Oh. Oh I see. Like how? OH! OH MY GOD.
Friend Number Three: (straddling Friend Number One) Straight people could have sex like this, too. My boyfriend doesn’t know that!
Friend Number Four: (from the kitchen counter) Wait, there must be hundreds of gay sex positions. You may even have more than we do!
I wouldn’t go that far. You straight girls have some extra pockets to play with.
Friend Number Four: Why doesn’t anyone know this? I think the insidious image of anonymous animal intercourse really contributes to the American prejudice against accepting the legitimacy of same-gender sexual relations.
Only at Yale.
Sodomites certainly aren’t limited to the traditional myth of canine copulation. We have plenty of options from which to choose, and we exercise them as often as possible. And I use the word exercise very pointedly, given the heavy abdominal control some of those options require. Use your imaginations, people.
But given the traditional Yale proclivity toward over-studying, we don’t exercise our abs as often as we’d like. In fact, when we’re finished with a full day of seminars, cello lessons, World Fellow lectures and Facebooking for Darfur, we definitely do it in the missionary position.
And any other position we can think of. Not only are GaYalies committed to the nontraditional sex position, we’re overcommitted to it like we are to everything else, so we try several nontraditional sex positions in the same night. Maybe even at the same time. How is that even possible? Only in groups of four or more, remember.
Every now and again the GaYalie likes to indulge in the stereotype. We all go in for a good dose of carnal animalistic sodomy every now and again. It’s a refreshing alternative to the missionary when I’m trying to spice things up. Especially after church, when I’m all guilt-free and my adopted kids are taking a nap before soccer practice.
I was raised Catholic, after all.
We’re not so different from straight people, you know. We’re less boring than you think, but more boring than you might ever dare imagine.
Chad Callaghan is waiting patiently in church until he can get home for a little ‘Like a Prayer’ under the covers.