Fucking Poofs!
You know how it is in the early days of a relationship. You’re excited, you’re buzzing, and for a moment you forget about the outside world with all its gnarly prejudices … especially when you’ve had a few drinks. So there I was, on the platform at Piccadilly Circus tube station, excited, buzzing, drunk on a barrel of red wine (at least that’s what it felt like), and saying goodbye to a man I’d met only two weeks beforehand. It’s the centre of London, within a stone’s throw of the gay bars of Soho, so I didn’t think twice about putting my arms around him and kissing him goodbye. A pair of lads walked by and one of them muttered, “fucking poofs”.
Normally I would keep my mouth shut, but I was excited, buzzing, and full of red wine, and so I shouted after them, in Eastenders butch, “Oi, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” They kept walking, which I suppose was lucky. I was about to go after them and tell them how unacceptable it was to talk like that (or at least the drunken remix …). I was persuaded not to.
I think this is the behaviour people have in mind when they say they don’t like gay people “shoving it down their throats”. What they mean is that they don’t want to see it, failing to realise that heterosexuality presses in from every corner. It is so common that they fail to see that. On the way down to the platform I saw at least two heterosexual couples holding hands and kissing. And there were no doubt a raft of posters showing heterosexual couples going about their lives.
I was really angry at having to experience that, as unobtrusive as it was (especially considering the violence that could have happened, and indeed happens daily). I was angry at being told that I should have not said anything, angry that I had to qualify the experience by thinking I was lucky it didn’t end in violence.
Perhaps I need to have a t-shirt, with the following quote from Dorothy Parker, printed on the front: “Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common”. That way I could plant a thought in many a mind without having to once open my mouth.
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Homophobia makes me so angry that I want to smash things. Repeatedly. Until they get it.
At my mothers funeral my brother said (of me) as I was climbing frpm the funeral car to go into the ceremony “Ladies first”. Not the first time he has pulled that stunt either – in the car on the way to my stepfathers funeral he asked if “I was still queer?” . On that occasion I was able to respond “Yes, are you still a convicted thief?”.You can probably guess that the only occasions we meet are at funerals …
well its too that he feels that way but maybe he just doesnt know what true love is, maybe if he werent so rude he may find love in his own life
sorry meant sad not too
I would buy that shirt.
I would too!
To heck with what homophobes think. I don’t particularly care anymore if they are bothered by what I do. All I will say is make your first punch your best, because it will be the only one you will get.
It happens in Boston, Massachusetts a lot. Standing alone at a bus stop or with a buddy outside a bar, and a car with several local youth, imagine a stereotype Irish Catholic “Townie” as has always been the case, one yells out a window of their passing vehicle, “Fucking faggot!” I never really felt fear as much shock from the rising suppressed anger, but gradually I’ve begun to shout back, “Yep! Big faggot right here!” I’ve been criticized for making myself a target, but they keep driving. At whatever risk I know that I am the brave one. And doing this in front of peers is very infectious.
I used to get that everyday in high school back in the mid 80′s even though I was heterosexual. Today at 44 I am the guy that goes after the homophobes with a verbal lashing that turns them to mud. Once you experience discrimination in your life you either slink away or stand up. I choose to stand for equality for all.
“fucking poofs”
Answer: ‘No dear, *kissing* poofs.’
When I was living in London in 98-01, my BF and I would hold hands walking down oxford street (in fact pretty much any street). We would kiss in public without a thought. In fact we just did what we wanted when we wanted. We never once had any abuse thrown at as. I loved living in London for that reason. I think people just had their own busy lives and just didn’t care about us.
They were sick people – by doing nothing you demonstrated the respect you (We) are entitled to. We can’t demand respect but we can earn it…
It is a sad world we live in with lots of sick people just trying to do the best they can with the emotional tools they have…. Thank you for sharing your story – you were the stronger one. I hope Mr two weeks is progressing well
Good article which brought back several unpleasant memories for me living in south east London where cries of batty boy were often thrown around. Made me angry, but there was a sense of violence attached to these comments more often than not, so retaliating felt the wrong things to do. I regret that now.
Kissing poofs would have been more appropriate. Obviously I wasn’t there but I wonder if they kept walking because his mate told him to ‘shut the fuck up and keep walking’ after too many pints? A. Poof (London)