Fruit Fly

One magical St. Patrick’s Day evening, I met my lesbian gal pals at a (what else) gay bar in the West Village. I was the only guy there. The fact that lord gay (me) surrounded by a fascinating mix of lesbian subcultures was simply entertaining to watch. My friends and I enjoyed a drink, while we listened to a very sporty looking lesbian angrily singing “You outta know” by Alanis Morrisette.

After drinking my vodka, they suggested I go up and sing karaoke. At first I hesitated, but then I go why not. I was dressed in my work attire. They suggested I go and sing in the go-go cage. I did.

For some reason, I decided to sing a cheesy 90’s pop tune. There I was in a cage, dressed like a proper prep school boy surrounded by lesbians. I belted out a little bit of the song, and then as I garnered more courage, I hit the high note, swinging from one side of the cage to the other.

The lesbians cheered me on, as I hit a high note. Wow, this is what Judy Garland, Cher, Madonna and virtually every icon revel in every time they hit the stage. They gave me a round of applause. Wow, they loved me. Was it my haircut? Or did they really like my crackly voice? For once, I was transformed into the fruit fly.

Traditionally, the fruit fly is a gal pal who loves hanging out with a bevy of gay men. I’ve had many fruit flies in my day. In fact, they’re all on my speed dial. The bond between gay men and straight women is obvious. There is a brother/sister dynamic. In a more obvious analysis, we both date men. My gal pals and I meet at the wine bar/coffee shop and even the diner. We talk about men and relationships, building a support system when that cute boy rejects us.

I’ve met my fruit flies in a variety of different ways from Christian camp to Pilate’s class. Although, my formative years were filled with filled with a lack of acceptance, my adult life was very different. I had friends from different sexual orientations and ethnicities. It widened my social network and gave me a window into different life experiences.

I haven’t sung in a go-go cage with a room full of lesbians for a while. However, I loved all the adulation. Gal pals are important to one’s journey. Not only as a support system, but someone to laugh with and dish about men. When I have days we’re I cry without knowing why, my gal pals always understand. They reply ” me too.” Letting me know I’m not alone.

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