Tearoom for Two

Sally is no Larry Craig, but she has played in the bathroom.

I am not gay. Not if we’re defining gay according to (former) Senator Larry Craig’s hoodwink on America. He’s not gay. Never has been. He said so.

He’s proof that even if you solicit sex from people who use the same gender-segregated restroom as you do, you can still publicly affirm you are not gay. By the same logic, I guess I can say I’m not gay. Never mind that I also had anonymous restroom sex. Once. Sort of.

Years ago at our local gay bar, I confessed to my then-girlfriend my recurring bathroom mauling fantasy. I had developed said fantasy before I acknowledged who and what I am and came out, which, unlike Senator Craig, I and millions of GLBT people have managed to find the guts to do. I used to frequent the bar with the man I was dating back then. I would dance with him, check out the women, and feign an inexplicably active bladder. I would go to the women’s room totally turned on by my secret hope that some big burly babe would barge in and overpower me.

It never happened. Not while I was still dating men. But I kept the fantasy alive. After my departure from Het-World, I spilled my desire to my girlfriend and, bless her accommodating soul, she agreed to play it out at that very bar.

I excused myself to go pee and waited in the stall as I had done years before. Too bad I didn’t know then about Senator Craig and the foot-tapping code! Think how much more thrilling the scene would have been if I’d only included the code. My girlfriend could’ve played the anonymous gal in the stall next to me. I’d tap. She’d tap. I would swipe my hand under the divider. She would flash me her cop badge. Wow. How hot would that be! Especially when I would show her my card and say, “What do you think of this?”   She’d cart me off to jail with me protesting, “But I’m a lesbian humor columnist!”

Even before the senator’s scandal taught us the secret details, my lewd act was still pretty awesome. I sat there, heart (and other parts) pounding. My burly babe barged in on me, just like I had imagined. I succumbed to her prowess, right there in the bathroom. It was great fun.

But we only did it that one time. And it wasn’t for real. No cops, no media, no barrage of late-night TV jokes.

Senator Craig acted out his fantasy, God knows how many times, and still denies his gayness with a convincingly straight face. He doesn’t deny he lied, doesn’t deny attempting bribery, and certainly doesn’t deny he has voted a kajillion times to strip away the civil rights of millions of Americans. He may be a screaming hypocrite, but he’s no screaming queen. He says so.

Senator Craig does tearoom sex and claims he’s not gay. I could claim the same thing. How you gonna prove it on me? Maybe I just happen to have a wide stance.

Sally Sheklow, who lives out her fantasies in Eugene, Oregon, has received multiple honors in the magazine column category in the Houston Press Club Lone Star Awards.




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