But she was here with me anyway.“Fuck that,” she said, making me grin and get closer to her face.“Stay out all night with me. Party till we thro... up in the alley.”“Sounds romantic,” she said, sipping her martini.“Get high and make out on the train.”“Ooh, baby,” she said, grinning again.“Find a nice spot in Central Park and buttfuck.”She stopped and stared at me. The bartender’s head jerked in our direction for a second.Oh, shit, I went too far, I thought. But I kept staring at her. Her eyes. They made fun of me. They said I smelled when I tried to talk to them at the bars. They laughed when I moved into dance with them in the nearby city clubs. They called me fat, a fag, a pervert, a loser, and after a while, I could not take their abuse any longer. Despite growing up among the most beautiful of them, my love for them turned to hatred when they passed me over for the same type of men I witnessed in the locker rooms of the High School, yes, those same well-hung men who fit between. More

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