Man, I felt like a woman

I should have known when I shook his hand. He wasn’t just introducing himself. He was sizing me up like I was some sort of elk or something. I noticed I unintentionally deepened my voice when I told him my name. It was the best defense I had.

Those who know me know I have no problem with homosexuality. In fact, when I went to cover a gay rodeo fundraiser, I was nervous that I was going to be the one threatening them. That fear was partially accurate because when I rolled up and told someone who I was, I was told this was a private function and they were not interested in media attention. But after talking to the head honcho I was allowed to stay and even accompany the boys on a leisurely float down the Clark Fork.

When I boarded the bus, I tucked into an empty seat and looked out the window. I was suddenly startled when the man who had sized me up before asked if he could sit next to me. Not wanting to seem like the token straight guy who was uncomfortable with this whole thing, I obliged.

“So you’re straight as straight aren’t you?” the guy asked. He was wearing a cowboy hat, a pink shirt and torn shorts. (He later forced me to take this picture of him.) It was 10:44 a.m. and no joke I could smell beer on his breath. “So I’m not even going to get one little kiss?” he asked. I told him no, but I was much friendlier than I should have been.

And then I made a huge mistake. He started talking to me about where I’m from and what I am doing out here (he kept calling me a photographer because of the camera I was carrying) and then he asked me if I was uncomfortable with the event I was at. I told him I wasn’t and I gave him my family background to prove it. Big blunder.

“Hmm. So you ever think about being bi?” He asked me this while putting his hand on my leg. I squeezed my leg away from him and politely told him I was not interested. I said I was not there to ponder my sexual preferences. I was there simply to cover the fundraiser.

The dude did not quit. He kept his hand on my leg and even nestled his head on my shoulder. I shook him off as best I could, but I was powerlessly squeezed between the school bus window and this drunk, erotically charged gay cowboy.

That’s when it hit me: This is what women must feel like when some creepy guy hits on them at a bar or something. It’s a completely helpless feeling. I don’t mean for that to sound chauvinistic. It’s just that men typically have a certain physical dominance. I don’t think I would feel threatened by any girl who was coming onto me no matter how unattractive or needy she seemed. For the first time in my life, I felt like I could actually be empathetic toward the opposite gender.

Eventually the guy took the hint. But then he got up while the bus was driving, took his shirt off and insisted I take a picture of him. I told him the camera lens was too big and it wouldn’t actually get him in the frame. He got bored and moved on. But the image will remain in my mind forever.

Comments welcome,
Andrew