Champion
My kickball team played in the championship game on Sunday night but I missed it for Gay Pride. It was tough deciding which one to choose but after asking myself, “Would you rather kick balls or lick balls?” the answer was obvious. The good news is that my team won the trophy; the bad news is that I woke up alone.
Later that day as I was getting some fresh air on the sidewalk outside the restaurant while friends drank margaritas inside, one of my co-workers pulled up to the valet. He got out of his car and walked over to give me a hug.
“Oh Jimbo,” he said. “You asked me something inappropriate last night at the club.”
“I woke up with that feeling,” I said as I squeezed his arms.
“You asked if I wanted to go home and have sex with you,” he said.
I felt my face turn red. I wasn’t embarrassed of the question, it’s normal for any gay to ask that on the last night of Pride, but rather because of whom I had asked. A co-worker? If there has been one rule that I’ve followed strictly it’s “No Hooking-Up With Co-Workers.” I’ve seen it happen a million times and it never works out. It seems as though lately I’ve been getting lazy with my rules, which makes me feel weak, and that’s embarrassing.
“Why didn’t you go home with me?” I asked but then stopped him from answering. “Nevermind. I’m already embarrassed enough.” I should have known that it’s always better to choose kicking balls over licking balls.
