It’s official:
I live in the gayest place on the planet.
[Rainbow-colored confetti rains down from the ceiling]
OK, maybe that’s wrong to say “it’s official.” I’m not aware of a machine that measures gayness within a given area. But let me tell you: this certainly FEELS like the gayest place. And some guy I met on the street from New Hampshire said that Madrid was the gayest place he’d ever been. Which feels like a serious endorsement, of some kind. I mean the guy was really drunk. And as we all know, drunk people can’t lie.
While it is factual that I’ve always been more than a little popular with the gay audience, in Madrid I’m like a full-fledged superstar. I feel like the Jonas Boys or something. Wait, Brothers? Is it Jonas Brothers? Those guys.
Just walking the streets of Madrid feels like a jungle expedition. Whenever I come into proximity with the Street Gays, they make it known–quite obviously–that they want a piece. As we go passing by one another, they begin the process of swiveling their head around more, more, a full 180 degrees, just to look back and to catch a glimpse of my tight little tushie. I can see it happening out of the corner of my eye, and if I ever look behind me, my suspicions are verified; they are practically putting on a baby’s bib, breaking out the cutlery, and prepared to eat my rectum. And they CONTINUE to stare at my ass, even when I’ve caught them. It is so blatantly obvious.
What makes it even more obvious is that Spanish women IGNORE every man in their path. They don’t look at you, they don’t care. If they aren’t all lesbians (and many, many are), then they at least come across as being lesbians. The only thing on their mind is rolling their next cigarette.
Now, you can go to any city on earth and you’ll see the gays out and having gay pride and doing all of the gay things that entails. For example: holding hands. Wearing cashmere sweaters tied around their neck. Calling each other “fluffy butter-buns.” You know what I’m talking about.
In Madrid, that type of common gayness is ramped up TWO-FOLD. It’s like… the evolution. Of being gay. It’s kind of like if there was a couple of gay guys, and one of them said to his boyfriend, “You know what? I’m think I’m gonna be gay.” And then he paused, and stood up, and said, “Madrid gay.” And then his boyfriend fell out of his chair, screaming, “NO!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!!” Because being Madrid gay is so much gayer than being just regular gay, it’s almost as different as a straight person is from a regular gay person.
Does that make sense? Just kidding, it’s my blog, it doesn’t need to.
And before you go and start thinking that getting my backside checked out is a “once in awhile” experience, allow me to point you to the sheer queer QUANTITY. I am fairly certain, based on some amateur-level data gathering I’ve been doing, that the gays are NOT a minority in Madrid. I believe that the gays make up the majority. Yes, I am aware, this would mean that more than 50% of human beings in Madrid are gay. And while I can’t confirm this or support this with any type of evidence that is non-anecdotal, I can say that more 50% of the Madrileños certainly LOOK gay. And I know what a gay person looks like. I took a class on it. So don’t doubt me.
What does this all mean?
Much like most of my blogs here, it means nothing. It is merely observational. It certainly adds to the personality–dare I say charm–of Madrid. Gays got good energy, and even though it can be a bit much at times, there is a vibrant sense of life here that one seldom finds in the world.
Also gay people really know how to party. (But we knew that already.)
Finally, I can take comfort in knowing that, should I ever go broke as my time as a student here, I will always have the option of becoming a stripper. Because, while there may be close to zero women that would pay to see me shaking my banana covered in baby oil and a tiger-stripped thong, I can think of several men who would LOVE to pay for this viewing opportunity.
Hell, even if my money situation doesn’t demand it, I think “stripping in a gay bar in Madrid” would be a hilarious story to tell. The exact type of story that gets told around here at Explicit Exploits™.
