One thing I learned from years of education is that stereotypes are not bad at all. I actually like labels. It makes it easier for me to identify someone, but more importantly, it makes it easier for me to identify myself. If I could choose, I would want to be a gorgeous white gay male with large and supportive family. I am none of that. So for now, I have settled with a title gay leaning bisexual who is set on marrying a Korean woman. I really think meeting the fated other half is overrated. There are more important things in the world than finding love. I always hated being same anyway.
When I used to be completely gay, which is until about all of three days ago, I harbored one of the most intense crush for a straight guy. Despite the fact that he was completely out of my territory, he was the only crush that I could proudly admit to anyone. He was not physically attractive, he didn't have the face that made one subconsciously wet his/her lips, and most he wasn't rich. My immense desire for him was the ultimate proof of my so-said conviction. I have always told people that the first thing I look at a man, I look at his eyes, and I fall for guys with personality, not the looks. He was the ultimate proof. It is incredibly importantly for me to be right.
Even as a bisexual man, I cannot for long deny the package that Marc was and is.
"Bebe! It's Marc with a C, like French."
"RRRRight?!" I am actually pretty damn sure that this is not the first conversation that Marc and I shared, but it is perhaps one of the most representative one of his personality. He is humble yet confident, overbearingly charming, extremely well-liked by all, passionate, extracurricular involved, and simply perfect. And those eyes; it is not often that I come across truly beautiful eyes, but he had it, hiding behind that comical facade.
I only got to steal a few kisses at his cheeks in my drunkard state. But I decided that he probably is the "one" in a male form, and his unavailability is the divine sign that I should seek answer among the other half of human population.
"JJ!!!" Chloe was screaming across the campus. I swear everyone could hear her. I temporarily away-messaged a chat with myself, and mustered up as much enthusiasm as Chloe deserved after all summer's time of not seeing her.
"LOE!!! How's theee?" Perhaps not nearly as loudly, but she knew it was going to be the best she will ever get out of me.
"Still mis-speaking the good ole' Old English I see. Shakespeare should be so proud."
"I know right. I could be his gay lover, don't you think. We would be so hot together, methinks."
We heard some chuckles from freshman girls passing by, each with ample dorm supplies careless held in the bookstore bag. Those evil people trying to get every penny scraped out of already overcharged college students.
"I know I hate them too. I can't believe they are the new best class to set their feet inside our ivory gates."
Our conversation came to an overbearingly obvious, awkward, and premature halt as group of frat guys passed by us, in their Lacoste, Polo, and Abercrombie wholesomeness. Such mundane appearance by the fortunate half of our society wouldn't usually stop our vibrant and all-too entertaining conversations (for us and eavesdroppers alike), but it was their overt display of lust for Chloe.
"OMG Loe, what did I tell you. I told you not to wear that top ever again. It's that stupid shirt that essentially covers your belly button and belly button only. It's inviting people's gaze."
"Sorry dearest. I guess you didn't notice it before then? I thought you were trying to turn a little straighter?"
That got me silent. It turned out to be a rather difficult task, to notice woman. Chloe was stunning, or so most of my straight friends told me. With a Korean mother--God, I love her--and a Russian father, Chloe is easily one of the most beautiful vision to be held by hormone overcharged college men. Besides her looks, Chloe was also eloquent, funny, kind-hearted, sympathetic, and overall perfect. Yet I was still struggling to find Chloe attractive.
"Sowie. I didn't...I mean...you know I think are gorgeous." She didn't say anything. Staring at me with one of the most enticing and one of the deepest pairs I ever saw on a human being, she kissed me. I felt the volume, the heat, the passion, the softness, the wetness...I felt everything that one was supposed to feel from the most perfect lips. I recalled romantic novels and cheesy romance comedies where protagonist men think out loud how great his fantasy women's lips actually feel like. How unforgettable and fantastic they are. I knew all the things I was supposed to feel. I knew them all...then why...?
BAM! Big, lung lurching slap on my back.
FUCK! I shrieked.
"Hey JJ"
"WT FUCK. And what's up with that sheepish voice. It doesn't suit you."
He was back. Nonchant, he moved onto his yet another prey.
"Priviet Loe."
"You may not call me by my pet name. It's rather exclusive. And priviet." One of the reasons I absolutely adore Chloe: she wasn't like any other girls prancing around our campus. She had presence and demeanor befitting her social status. She wasn't an easy prey, even for Dimitri.
"So Dim, why are your too-good-to-be true beer buddies ogling at this direction? Are you trying to take our lunch money?"
"As I am their only connection to Chloe, although a far-stretched one at that evidently, they wanted me to find out if Chloe somehow turned you straight and that she are officially off the availability chart."
"And I will take CHLOE CHOMSKY FOR THREE THOUSAND! I guess she's off now..right?"
Chloe answered me with her all-too perfect smile. I saw it though, beyond that perfect smile, twinge of emotion hanging off of the corner of her multi-colored eyes. I decided against probing about that for now.
"All right. Well, I am going to tell the guys that you are as gay as ever and that Chloe hasn't had a sex change. I will catch you tomorrow in the class then. And Chloe, call me." He left, ever so charmingly, and Chloe made a face that read: `I just threw up a little in my mouth.'