Stolen
One night I was sitting at the bar with Kim and Dan and we were talking about beauty pageants, because that's the sort of butch conversations we have.
"Miss Beverly Hills quoted Leviticus about how gays should be put to death," Dan was bitching while gesturing with his half-empty bottle of beer. "What century is this? Shouldn't somebody be tossing up her evening gown to check for a hymen? I'm pretty sure that same God advocated death for women who aren't virgins when they get married!"
"Beauty pageants are like drag shows for straight women," Kim said. Nobody was really sure what the hell that meant. He was really drunk and Canadian, though, so we're used to that sort of thing by now.
Dan just kept on going. "What the hell do these pageant people have against gays?"
"They're worried the gays will steal their men," Kim suggested.
Dan and Kim both laughed at that, but I had gone very still and serious.
"It's not funny," I told them.
"What isn't?" asked Dan.
"Gays stealing men. They really do."
"What?"
"I was stolen by a gay man once," I whispered. "It was a strange experience. I just woke up one day in a strangely familiar bed in a very nicely decorated apartment. I mean, there I had been, just minding my own business, having sex with--female, of course--models all the time, and now I didn't remember a thing but I was in this bed and it kinda smelled like...man. So I got up and made my way out and just as I was escaping the building I saw this trim, 30-something dude with designer shoes going into the apartment. And his hair? Man, you never saw anything like it. Chestnut with little golden highlights as if a fairy had gently stroked her wand up his locks. His tan was flawless. None of that bottled crap. He either had the cleanest hands I ever saw in my life or he was wearing clear polish, because I shit you not his nails sparkled."
I paused. Dan and Kim both nodded grimly for me to go on.
"Well, I don't mind telling you, I took off running and never looked back. To this day I glance back over my shoulder a little nervously every time I get near 10th Street."
My friends stopped joking about men being stolen by gays after that night. I hope that means that I opened their eyes up to the dangers out there.
I had to tell my story. I know I can't be the only one. I just know I was lucky enough to escape and I want people to know that yes, even today, these things happen. They happen in your city. Someone you know might be a victim of Gay Theft. So keep your eyes open. You could save a heterosexual life.
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