Now how did this fascination start, you ask? After deep introspection and countless hours with my therapist, I’ve come to the conclusion that it all stems from an early relationship with a gay boy I once loved when my heart was a clean slate and my psyche was at its most impressionable and vulnerable stage.

I was a moody teen hibernating in my parent’s basement in suburban Detroit reading Sassy magazine and dreaming of the day I would break out and do something other than get knocked up by a factory worker from Ford Motor Company, when Detroit’s GENRE Man and World’s Biggest Celebrity Magnet came into my life. My parents were bewildered by my superiority complex and wondered why I had no interest in making friends. What can I say? I had better things to do. I was either engrossed in a Harlequin romance novel (changing the leading man to a swashbuckling woman), writing short stories about the demise of my neighbors or documenting every scrap of information about New York and LA that I could get my hands on (already planning my escape). So to appease them, I agreed to spend the weekend with family in “the city”.  And it’s a good thing I did, because there’s no fucking with fate.

When I first met Joe, he was playing basketball in the alley behind his house. I was instantly smitten by his urban appeal, the way his perfectly toned body glistened under the streetlights and his innate ability to drop the F bomb at least six times in every sentence. He was just like the beautiful butch lesbians I conjured up in those romance novels. He slipped me his phone number, I slipped him the tongue, and a tumultuous friendship ensued. 

Like two dysfunctional personalities cut from the same plaid, polyester cloth, we knew we were meant for the finer things in life and spent countless hours charting our course to a brighter future – most of the time at the expense of each other. It was wickedly funny when we united our Wonder Twin powers to burn our enemies with vicious sarcasm and wit, but when we used those tactics against each other it was an all-out catfight. It's ok though. Those cutthroat spars were simply the building blocks of ambition and made us the kind of go-getters who breathe fire and live for the fight.

Flash forward to two decades later and many things have changed, but the one thing that has stayed the same is the imprint we left upon each other. The years have brought us on a wild ride, but our planning and plotting eventually paid off. We both got everything we dreamed about, not to mention a few things we probably didn’t deserve. 

I'll always have a soft spot for my first gay friend. Even though we still bring out the crazy in each other, I have Joe's back and he's got mine. Because that's how we roll in Detroit.

January 13, 2017

Motor City Limits

I love men. Gay men, that is. I can’t get enough of them. In fact, I sometimes think I might be one. I’m snarky, I bore easily, and I’m totally into art, books, socialites, mansions, scandal and all things entertainment. I love a good martini, and there’s nothing quite like a three o’clock buzz to get me all pumped up for my afternoon workout. Lesbians, on the other hand, scare the hell out of me. I hate team sports, I don’t understand the flannel fashion trend or why baseball caps are all the rage, and that whole notion of turning your best friend’s old lover into your new lover is downright incestuous. Now straight girls I get, but they’re heartbreakers. Even when they’re sleeping with other women, straight girls are still straight. And I closed the chapter on straight men long ago. But gay men; ahhh they are my people. 

by Cynthia Gunnells