The Gaysian Party and the Tall Blonde

“I gotta leave early – I have a gaysian party to go to” is not something I thought I’d ever say. But here we are.

This weekend was a nonstop whirlwind of gayness. It started with brunch with a newfound friend  – one whom I knew from the get-go that I’ll eventually become good friends with, and boy did our brunch sesh affirm that. I suspect she’ll be a recurring character in my life for the next while, so I’ll refer to her as C. Our supposedly hour-long brunch (I had frisbee practice in the park nearby after) started at 11:30am and before we knew it, the cafe was closing up at 4pm. C and I had chatted for four and a half hours, one-on-one, and I wasn’t even the slightest bit bored – which, in complete honesty, is a rarity. I felt no sense to go home, spend my time better… I suspect it may have been because I knew spending time with her was making me better.

Being gay, Asian, and whitewashed (read: constantly feeling diasporic), we had much in common. We learned a lot from each others experiences and views and I really feel like we made each other better. She ranted to me about her troubles, and I, her. The first time I’d checked my watch, it was 2pm – past when I was supposed to be at frisbee – but this was a far more enriching experience and so I decided to stay.

We talked about my growth in July, our goals in life, our social circles and family,… Man, it was refreshing. It was as good as my drunken shit-shooting sessions this past month (maybe better), but sober and in broad daylight (with great food, too). An important part was her building upon my stories with poignant points and a fresh perspective. I semi-reluctantly compared her conversational style to Ghomeshi. She laughed at that.

She’d also brought upon my first case of lesbian incest: this girl that I had met on Tinder whom I’d been hanging out with for five months (!!!) turned out to be hooking up with my new friend… and our timelines overlapped. In fact, my friend considered her an ex-girlfriend, despite only dating for two months. I know we were only platonic and hanging out, but it’s questionable that she never thought to mention either of us to one another. Tinder girl never brought her up and only counted two exes – she didn’t consider C one.

In hindsight, I’d love to say I knew there was a reason why my gut told me I couldn’t trust Tinder Girl #3 completely. But as I told C, she never had much of a personality – she built what she said, based off what I had told her – she knew what to say and how to say it to get someone to like her. For example, she mentioned that she wanted to get a bike and bike downtown when she moved here. At this point, I felt like she was only saying it because she knew I’d be into it. She’s a very agreeable person, but in a way that makes her manipulative. Thanks to this case of lesbian incest and informed cross-analysis, I most definitely know that I cannot trust Tinder Girl #3 from hereon. 

That aside, needless to say, C and I got deep and vulnerable quite fast – whether it’s her being comfortable with me or her being confidant, I’m unsure, but her telling me she’d often feel like something was wrong with herself for always being the one getting dumped. Read with her strong belief that nobody is boring and everyone is interesting at their core (which she unabashedly exhibited with all these deeper conversational inquisitions), I told her it was because she saw complexities in people and was fascinated by them, whereas others, in a society where Tinder and “limitless dating options” are in the back of everyone’s minds, have no patience, ability, nor curiosity to pick deeper into people. I share the belief that people are interesting but only when you get into their core, their knitty gritty, past their guard to their baggage. These words came out of my mouth unfiltered, and I was unaware that she would take it as a compliment. She was delighted to hear them. I’m glad, mostly because I felt I’d been objective.

As we let the cafe close, we hugged goodbye as I had to head down over to the islands to meet up with the planners. I would be seeing her that night anyways for a gaysian party she was hosting.


I had another nude beach day with the planners, but it was with the greater group, including those without bikes… and not including my favourite man-bike-riding, fuck-me-with-your-eyes, bisexual girl. It was great for bonding, and for working on my vampiric stomach skintone, but I was secretly looking forward mostly to the gaysian party that night, as I’d never been to one, nor known one to exist.

And also my frame of reference for nude beach hangouts had been set a pretty high standard after the last time.

I hugged everyone goodbye after sunset and biked home with huge wet stains where my underwear was. Once again I had failed to bring any sort of swimwear to the beach but luckily had matching underwear to go swimming in.


As signal returned to my phone, a friend texted me, asking to go to Cherry Bomb (a monthly queer women dance party) together as her friends were too tired. I told her about C’s pre-party and she said she’ll meet us at the bar in Kensington.

After getting primped up for the night and being careful to only bring one tallboy so as to avoid any sort of hangover the next day (badminton tournament), I walked over to C’s place – just five minutes from me. It was packed with queer Asian women and snap backs – about fifteen of them.

I kept my eye on my phone as my friend told me she was already at the bar, but the night escalated as music got louder and the “board game” we were playing got more intense. Because of this board game, I gave my first lap dance ever, and it happened to be to the birthday girl (it was a half-birthday, half-queer night event). I heard I nailed it. Just sayin’.

By 11pm, we were still at C’s and my friend had been at the bar by herself for almost an hour. I was getting anxious, leaving her alone there (although in my defense, I told her we’d be at C’s for a while) but despite my best efforts, the group decided last minute to go to Crews instead. I felt terrible for being unable to reroute them to Cherry Bomb… so I ditched the group and went to meet up with her in Kensington.

And it was such a good decision.

We ended up dancing the night away. I recall looking around on the dance floor as I danced, eagerly wishing I had the gumption to make a move on the girls I was dancing with. I danced fairly closely with many of them, but I just could not bring myself to make out with them.

As I was giving up and ready to call it quits at 2am (I had to wake up in time for my tournament the next day), I had just started dancing with a tall blonde chick in a skirt and she was killing it. We danced and chatted a little but I couldn’t bring myself to make a move. I looked over at my friend, who was occupied with her own girl – I couldn’t leave now.

I gave her a little longer with that girl, before I decided I couldn’t go on for too much longer. I was certain I’d already be breaking my promise to my doubles partner not to be hungover and the least I could do was send myself off to bed. Reluctantly, I told the blonde I was dancing with that I had fun with her but I had to leave… but that I also wanted to kiss her. I went in for the cheek, but she turned her head real quick and we locked lips. I pulled away shortly, a little surprised, smiled, and went to get my friend.

My friend didn’t end up staying and came with me. For whatever reason, the blonde grabbed her friend and left, tailing us, but we parted ways at the bottom. As she walked away, I stared after her, smiling to myself.

She turned and looked at me, smiling back.

I must’ve yelled “come to Crews next Friday” or something because we made half-assed plans dangerously hinging on serendipity and chance. My friend said “we should’ve gotten their numbers” and something in me snapped.

YOLO.

Carpe diem (noctum). 

Just do it. 

“Fuck it.”

And before I knew it, my feet were running in the blonde’s direction. Reaching them, I blabbered, “probably the biggest regret in life is not getting a girl’s number”.

And bam, we exchanged numbers. My friend caught up and she got the other girl’s number.

I can’t believe I had the balls to do it. But I’m happy with my YOLOing and gumption. Because, really, life is too short to be left wondering “what if”.

Her name is [-].


I’m hosting an open-invite queer party/pre-drink at my place this coming Friday, and I’m planning on inviting Liv and her friend. C and Tinder Girl #3 are also invited, as are July and the French girl. It’s going to be one big queer fest.

I’m excited and slightly nervous. But I feel so goddamn vorfreude‘d.

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