Okay, who was I kidding? I’ve experienced a tinge of paranoia every time I meet other gay people, imagining what they’ve heard about me—that I’m not like them. Sure, we might get off to the same kind of porn, but I don’t fit in with them. I don’t speak their language, and I’m certain—I’ve been certain—that they all know I’m a fraud and they have communicated this fact to one another. There’s a room somewhere in a location undisclosed to me where my picture is hanging with the words Fake Gay in huge block letters.
