Adventures in gayland

1) I work with a somewhat cute guy in his late thirties, nice eyes, bright smile, impeccable sense of dress, and unmistakably camp mannerisms; not gay, no, ever since he was 15 people have been asking him, but he’s straight, although not in any kind of a relationship, and waiting for The One. (noun, feminine singular)
Although those two things are unrelated, Michael is a born-again Christian and cycles to work. Nice legs, I chirp. Thank you, he gushes. Not that nice, really, I was wearing a dress for a fancy dress part once, borrowed from a friend of mine.. dreamy blank. It was a very nice burnt orange thing, very unusual, perfect cut. I smile and refrain the urge to wink knowingly. Not gay, just a cross dresser, then? After a pause, he adds: I wish I had seen her in it, though. The afterthought doesn’t quite ring genuine.

2) The person sitting three seats away across from me on the tube could either be a very cute, delicately featured 16 year old boy, or a very short-haired lesbian. I stare. I can’t help but stare. I look for clues. Impossible to tell from this distance. Then she looks up from her book and returns the stare. I don’t think a 15 year old boy would hold my gaze this steadily.eventually I’m the one who has to look down.