Queer Web-Slinger on the Dating Scene

I was about to commit some serious web-slinger action.  I must have been Peter Parker to his Mary Jane, because there we were at Joes on Juniper, the Sunday of Black Gay Pride, and he saw through me the way  a kid at Easter see’s through cellophane. At the table next to us were the actual goodies in the basket: lighter, taller (I suppose), larger in frame, I would argue just as handsome, and, according to Mary Jane, masculine.

Flash Thompson sat at his table blatantly flirting with my friend. Now, I could tell the punk (yes punk) was intoxicated, but if he thought I couldn’t tell what he was doing behind his Ray Bans, he was sadly mistaken. Mary Jane has acknowledged that we have an ‘attraction-friendship’; that’s his coined term, not mine; so, I wondered why he would even entertain Flash Thompson –Like shut that shit down, nigga.

I thought about kicking Flash Thompson’s ass; after all, it would be easy with his sloppy drunkin’ ass. I could put on my Spidey outfit: black and blue spandex; my ass would look great in it. Mary Jane wouldn’t be able to look through that thickness. Oh, but yes, I would be in Spidey outfit; imagine me on top of Joes from Juniper shooting a web to the Loew’s hotel parking deck. I’d swing down and my foot would land, POW, right on his jaw.

How dare Flash not think that Mary Jane and I could be together? I’m not unattractive. I have a decent athletic body.  Per previous paragraph, I’ve informed you my ass is thick. Maybe, it’s that Mary Jane and I didn’t exhibit any chemistry, or maybe that punk was just brave.

He had on a hat, a white shirt, those Ray Bans, some dark colored shorts and some ordinary shoes. I remember the fuckin’ drunk actually spit on me during a fit of laughter, as the host was first showing us to our seats. I should have totally KA-POW’D him. I recall Mary Jane, perhaps in some conscious pride, state how “Tops are always trying to talk to him.” Of course I looked at Flash Thompson, now Mary Jane being a novice, I had to school him. I asked him why he thought our table neighbor was a Top. Of course, he went straight to the wardrobe, as if Noah didn’t top Wade. Me, überconsciously, decided to denigrate the nigga by pointing out his obvious femininity; me hoping that would be a deterrent to me being put on the shelf like some Disney puppet. My nose would grow, if I said I was upset with what I did; now, I’m not proud, queer men attacking one another’s masculinity, or lack thereof, is pathetic, but I in all my Peter Parker-ness I was desperate. I would have done anything to halt this kismet occasion. For goodness sake, we weren’t on a double date, but we were on a four something.

Flash Thompson eventually, left, nothing became of their encounter, at least not in my presence. I had thought, now Peter Parker can take stage . . .

Just then, it happened in slow motion, his cell phone came out and a hundred Flash Thompsons in a five mile radius popped up on Jack’d.

Hopes to floor –Splat!


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