Straight Man                                                by Brady Russell Being a progressive, even a young progressive, even one that has not heard the term “progressive” yet, causes an arrogance or bravado to develop that is so subtle it never gets you into trouble until it gets you into a special kind of trouble all its own. I found trouble like that at the University of Kansas my freshman year. It was so early in the semester that I was only hanging out with a girl I already knew and a boy from her hometown. The girl was Courtney; the boy was Mike. Before long I learned that Mike was gay. He had been raised in one of Kansas's cow towns, called Baxter Springs.   Lawrence was a great opportunity for Mike. He had been basically in the closet before but now in a gay friendly town he wanted to do what ever it was that gay men do once everyone knows they are gay and glad of it. Being from Baxter Springs, he wasn't too sure what that was and I didn't know, but I was there to help! We had a feeling that meeting other gay men might be part of the process, so we all went to a gay bar. That's right, all three of us. I don't know what I said when Courtney and Mike invited me to come with them but I'm sure I said it with gusto and that I didn't hesitate. I already felt really good that Mike had come out to me and now I got to help even more! That's the arrogance showing its ugly bugger of a head. Sure! I accept homosexuality. As a freshman in college from a small town in Kansas I declare myself ready to immerse myself in the culture of experienced gay men, gay men forced to repress that side of themselves 40 hours-per-week and only really cut loose when surrounded by other gay men. I am ready to throw myself in the center of such a mob of hormones as they rage in a way I don't really comprehend. Sure I'm ready! I'm a liberal! And so it was. We three were on our way to the Hideaway, the gay bar. The Hideaway is gone from Lawrence now, as is the clothing optional bar and even the Irish pub where Courtney wanted to have her first legal beer. I did not have a lot of experience with bars. In fact, I had known more gay men at that point than I had known bars. Of course, bars are pretty much places for drinking and loud music, right? No big deal. The Hideaway seemed to be just the same - at first. I was relaxed. I edged close to Courtney, sure, but I was cool. Outside, this gang of frat boys turned up to moon the place and harass the patrons. Courtney and I laughed at them with cocky, liberal swagger that showed our cool was fading. I said,   “I've got an idea, Courtney. Let's form a militant off-shoot of the Straight Allies! We'll be the STRAIGHT BARRELS! We'll blow off the frat boys' heads!” “Yessss!” Courtney said, “Kill the homophobic pussies!” Okay, let's read behind the lines here: Yes, Courtney and I were bragging that we were on the patrons' side, but our nerve was fading. Basically, we were shouting 'We're straight! We're straight, dammit! Won't someone please give us a sticker that says we're straight?” Meanwhile, the caressing and carousing was beginning. The slow rolling, hip lolling, the limp-wristed proffering of scotch and beer and the propositions. Oh yes, I was propositioned - I was, I was. Mainly, by a guy named Tim. He was forward. Mike had dug him but he hit on Mike and Mike cooled. He turned to me and started talking about mountain biking and I dig mountain bikes so I had all these questions about where he goes and hey! Tim would take me if I wanted to go! Wow! I could go riding! Hell, he and I nearly had a date set to go until Courtney nudged me and I realized that Tim and I nearly had a “date” set. My oh my.   I also saw a weird guy from my high school there. Then, he had creeped all the girls out so I guess he came to Lawrence to creep out all the boys. He had seen me and I figured the story would get back home. Oh well. I was focused on Mike. He was letting people buy him drinks. He was nervous, repelled and a bit titillated by it all. He even got giggly. What the fuck was I doing here? I can't remember who was with me when two gentleman began rubbing each other's crotches and making out two feet from me. In my high school PDAs weren't allowed. Hello? In the next room, the dancing was like gold. Really. With the gold light and the shiny clothes and all those people trying so hard to be graceful. It was golden, but I shouldn't have looked as closely as I did. I didn't need to know why the dance floor had an upper and lower floor or how you could use the railings. In time, my innocent soul felt alienated from the whole fucking planet. Men wanted me in ways I couldn't even spell at that point. I saw gorgeous women there. I saw gorgeous women kissing other gorgeous women. Que sera sera. That night I came home a different boy. I wouldn't sleep well for two nights, nor think clearly for two more days. I'd make long mental catalogs and roll back to my dorm at around 3 AM. When I entered my floor's lounge one girl was still up watching TV and I knew her. Later she would say that I looked like a deer in headlights, but as I told her the story then and there, about the crotches and the confidence and the near-dates, she just laughed and laughed and laughed.