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    But then a strange fear gripped me / And I just couldn’t ask

    Michael (to whom I’m going to have to start paying finder’s fees–wasn’t there a time long ago when I occasionally found a gay-related media story by myself?) links to this fascinating discussion on Towleroad. The debate is over the NYT article here.

    I’m not sure the reporter is to be faulted for simply observing what’s going on and giving people’s own account of themselves. It does seem, though, that he might have seen fit to question, even in passing, statements such as these:

    “There’s so much loneliness among gay men,” one lot user said. “A lot of guys just want someone to talk to.”

    As for sex, the regulars say that they prefer the parking lot to gay bars since there is little in the way of drugs and alcohol and there is more honesty about sexually transmitted diseases.

    It’s a pity that honesty doesn’t extend to telling their spouses they’re getting screwed by strange men on top of junior’s lacrosse equipment in the back of the Explorer. Or not doing it in the first place.

    And is there no end to the procession of dimwits who think it’s impossible to get an STD from some guy who lives in a 5-bedroom mock-Tudor over on Winding Ivy Lane? Because, like, he says he’s clean, and he’s a lawyer and all?

    And that whole “gays are lonely” thing? What. Eh. Ver, Bitch. I’m not lonely. My boyfriend isn’t lonely. My friends aren’t lonely. I kinda think maybe that’s in part because we have more to say to one another than a furtive, haunted, sibilant, “Hey, whatever-your-name-is, want a blow job?” in a parking lot. People should be free to stay closeted and not to get involved in the urban gay scene, but these jokers aren’t just talking about discretion; they’re talking about deception. Their loneliness strikes me as well-earned, and I can only hope it spurs some of them to long-overdue self-criticism.

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