My friend Kristie and I exchange knowing, playful glances from across the massive beds of mud.
“Um. No. But thank you. I think my wife and I will be just fine,” I confidently reply.
“Well. OK then. You two enjoy your time together.”
And with that, the two attendants peel away the wall of doors and depart. Now alone, we giggle to each other while oozing down into our separate vats of sludge.
Gazing out at the spectacular view from our spa bungalow, my “wife” inquisitively asks, “Do you think they’re on your team?”
“Definitely!
“That’s funny,” she says, between sips of icy lemon water. “I think we threw off their gaydar!”
“Yep. Go figure, Me
…a married man!” We chuckle again, then fall silent, savouring our amazing getaway. While silently soaking, I began pondering about my status as a closeted, holiday husband and why I secretly liked passing for straight. My deduction: because, occasionally, I like languishing in the majority as opposed to my standard slice of 10 percent. I enjoy the holiday from my homosexuality. Additionally, with my recent vacation “wife”—who is not only beautiful, but the proprietor of what most (real) straight men have aptly dubbed a “rockin’ bod”—I’ve also discovered that I’m envied—as opposed to the possibility of being ridiculed.
Along with passing for a straight man—married to a beautiful woman possessing an enviable figure—comes the gay man/straight man body battle. The gays always win …sort of.
Case in point: post soaking-massage-facial, as we made our way to lunch, the diverse array of (straight) men strewn around the pool were now the underdogs. Why? Because, rockin’-bod wife aside, as a “straight” man, I too have a rockin’ bod! Whereas, if I were on a gayer vacation (with my gay girlfriends), the same scenario would play out two ways: either I would be feeling like I shouldn’t eat the entire vacation, or I would simply be feeling invisible because I am no longer 20. But instead—based on the crowd sunbathing around the spa pool—I was an alpha “straight” man. A closeted- gay-pretending-to-be-a-married-alpha-straight man. But still, I was transformed from invisible in the gay community to envied in my straight, vacation community.
Having always possessed extremely creative/gay careers—the cornerstone for which my homo habitat has been built—”passing” never occurred to me. Then, I began to travel—with girls. And, presto-chango!—like a sweeping spell from the vacation fairies, I’m instantly straight in the eyes of those sprawled across lounge chairs or cooing over the dinner tables of desirable destinations. Then, as the vacation unfolds, little things start to happen: People begin to ask questions that require answers, starting with us—while smiling at me with accepted enthusiasm. They allow themselves to talk about children and weddings in a comfortable, camaraderic tone. I confidently return the smile. I’m on holiday from my homosexuality. Those conversations are often accessorized with actions. This getaway was no different. At lunch we ordered drinks—I chose a glass of wine, Kristie a beer. When the waiter arrived with the drinks, guess who got the wine and who got the beer? When it was time to pay the bill, naturally it was presented to me. We giggled. She paid. But, I was still left to confront my question: why was I so comfortable to hide away my gay?
Sadly, it’s still the natural order of things that discrimination exists. Regrettably, it’s around us everyday—whether it be religion, race, sexual preference. The list is worldwide and, unfortunately, lengthy. And, because being gay is on said list, it has always been my way of life to defend it— except (now, apparently) for the occasional vacation. But, the more I thought about my covert affection for “passing,” I came to understand that, in those particular circumstances—vacation circumstances—it was actually more relaxing to be straight, to have the occasional getaway from my gay.
So, maybe it’s wrong to be a getaway gay, happy to crawl back into the closet for a vacation. Or maybe it’s the ultimate escape. Maybe sometimes pretending is better than being invisible.
Whatever the reason, I can only simulate straight for so long. Then, inevitably, some hunky spa attendant brings me an icy glass of lemon water and I get transported back to gay. Subsequently, the vacation comes to an end, and I must to reconcile with day-to-day accountability. Translation: I get horny and I miss my colourful, “creative” life.
As I meander (straight) into summer, considering a few vacation options, although I know it’s wrong to “pass”—sometimes it’s nice to escape from the uphill climb toward equality (including, at times, within the gay community) and be pampered with acceptance. And, although I’m still working out my gay/straight/work/vacation balance, I do know this: The vacation wouldn’t feel as satisfying if I couldn’t return to my homo home and back to the business of being gay.
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