In which FHC is your average homophobic f*ck

LL, with the complicity of Kevin D., tried to convince me yesterday to spend my Sunday at the water park with the Southern Boys throwing in the possibility to see Matt H. shirtless (not so much an incentive as he is already somewhat buttnaked on the cover of MW this week). I declined using the lame excuse that hair transplants do not support to be wet for an extended period of time. The truth (meaning the other true explanation) is that I am scared shitless by straight people particularly in the summer and particularly when they are close to the water since our trip to Mexico last year (see how I say Mexico even if we all know I really mean Cancùn… I have no pride whatsoever). I am traumatized and now the beach wakens up my internalized homophobia and my fear to be drowned by angry breeders.

Sadly, it’s that time of the year again. LL and I fly out to the Pointe de Kerbihan, in Brittany on Saturday evening…which is about as gay-friendly as Teheran. The time of our yearly interaction with straight families (including my own) is approaching.

You see we are very gay people at the beach: we always look like we are going to engage in anal sex any minute. We have matching polo bears beach towels, I wear oversized vintage Ray Bans, T-shirts sized large boy with “It is a crime against nature to butt fuck” written in bold letters on the front, women seersuckers shorts and unisex suede driving shoes. I read “Elle Décor” and Vogue which I pick up in the Air France lounge or Pamela Harriman’s biography. We play “Teaches of Peaches” on our gayish ipod sound system and while I am typing this, I am cruising e-bay for a very very very gay pink duffle beach bag with green polka dots (maybe I’ll go for the butcher one with the mermaid and the unicorn). But what really f*cks our chances to be confused for a pair of close fraternity friends, is that we call each other by the exact same nickname which of course leads to surrealistically gay conversations. My mother is going to be soooo embarrassed when I’ll introduce my American paypal dressed in a bright polo monogrammed with my initials and a red cap which says “Mount gay”.

At least this year, we will have a car so we can escape if some mob decides to attack us. Still, I really wish someone had written the “acting straight at the beach for dummies” guide: now that we all saw on Friday that our desperate attempt to teach me sport had ended up in a fiasco once again.

Comments

[LL]

FHC proposes that we buy a new towel so we won't match on the beach. Because one of us having a towel with a polo bear holding a martini glass won't seem gay at all.

[MegaDCFag (Reloaded - Live from France)]

Having once being told to be completely irrelevant, I would like to point out that LL has generated an average of 0.25 comments per postings during the past four weeks. Fortunately the French provide job security.I am happy that you and you hot roomate survived last saturday. I am getting crazy with this french keyboard. Bonjour.