I tend not to hide my homosexuality.
Oh, I’m quiet about it, but I tend not to lie about it or swerve
too far out of the way to cover it. Unless it amuses me.
However, that means that I generally
want to establish another reputation before it becomes public
knowledge and that I want to avoid any “gay stuff” that might be
misconstrued as predatory in retrospect.
I’d rather it go, “That guy who’s
good at washing dishes is gay too, did you know?” Rather than,
“that gay guy is good at doing dishes.” It’s a subtle
difference, but a really important one. To that end, I’m happy
about the praise I get as a dishwasher, but at some point enough
becomes enough and I start looking like a teacher’s pet.
Whenever I went to find Tosh, I learned
that he lived in one of the nicer rooms of the shelter. Some of the
rooms let you pay a very low rent and you get a nicer rent and some
more privacy. You still have to do chores and I think your stay is
still limited to 90 days, but they’re better, cheaper digs while
you recuperate and put money aside for living solo again.
When I knocked on Tosh’s door, I
really thought I heard him say, “come in.” The rule is that you
never enter someone else’s room unless folks are dying, and I abide
by that. I cracked the door a bit and told him a bit about what was
going on, but I wasn’t sure my very soft voice was really carrying
enough, so I poked my head around the corner.
There he was, scrunched up on his rack,
with every available limb covering his crotch as casually as possible
given the circumstances. I’ve been fortunate that I’ve only been
walked in on while masturbating once, but I probably had that same
look of intense concern in my eyes.
I pulled back a bit, having finished my
story and he simply said “I’ll be right up there.” While I made
my way back to the kitchen.
I really hope, he didn’t say “don’t
come in I’m touching myself,” because that’s the kind of
behavior on my part that could be misconstrued as predatory.
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