When I was in college, I had a gay boyfriend. No, he wasn’t my queeny bestie who helped me match my purse with my shoes and went clubbing with me; he was my actual boyfriend—we had sex, I met his parents, the whole deal. To be fair, I didn’t know he was gay. He didn’t act like it, and even though all of his best friends were campy and out ‘n’ proud, I just thought he was an enlightened dude who didn’t care about their sexual orientation. I knew his gay best friend was in love with him, and hated me because we were dating, but I was secure enough to just deal with it and all the bitchy glares he threw my way whenever I showed up at bars or parties. This went on for about a year, and while the GB and I had a somewhat rocky relationship, I ultimately thought we were in love, and really, quite the adorable couple. Keep reading »
