Sauce for the Goose

I remember the summer I worked as an intern with a church minister whose calling was to the LGBT community in New York City. That experience challenged me—when the summer began, I still had some vestiges of homophobia in me (well suppressed, but present), but by summer's end it had been pretty thoroughly eradicated—and it taught me some important lessons, one of which I only got half-right at the time. I'm just getting the second half today, more than 15 years later.

We spent a lot of time at a gay and lesbian center in Greenwich Village. One vivid memory, from my first day there, is standing at a urinal in the restroom, and being greeted by a woman headed for the stalls. That's when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wasn't in Kansas any more.

That summer, I got over a lot of hangups. It only took a week or so before events like the one above became commonplace and normal. I came to be blasé about things that would previously have triggered body modesty and embarrassment. As a result of that experience, I have largely lost my self-consciousness about my body (not completely; I still worry about whether or not a woman will like it).

Even better, constant exposure to the GLBT community eradicated any remaining vestiges of homophobia dwelling deep in my psyche. I already knew (at an intellectual level) that homophobia was unjustified and inappropriate; what remained before this experience was a little of the emotional reaction that I'd been conditioned to when growing up. That embarrassing remnant was blown away that summer.

The first time a man hit on me, I was uncomfortable. I didn't react badly—that would have been embarrassing and just plain mean—but I have to confess that it made me uneasy. I told the man that I was straight, which led to a conversation about why a straight man was hanging out at the LBGT center, and it was all good. I overcame my discomfort and everything was fine.

By the tenth or twelfth pass, I was over it. One man explained to me that a gay man's "gaydar" was just about as accurate as anyone else's—that is, not at all accurate—and that helped, too. I came to see the passes as a compliment; I didn't have to be interested in men to be flattered by a man's attention.

So there's the first half of the lesson: I learned to be flatted by a pass even if—due to sexual orientation, marital/relational status, chemistry, or whatever—I can't take what's being offered. I haven't always remembered this lesson, but it's deeply engrained nonetheless; it pops into my consciousness frequently.

The second half of the lesson—and I can't believe it's taken me this long to "get it"—is that the same is probably true of the women I might be attracted to.

I know, "Doh!"

I've always been hesitant to make a pass at a woman. Partly that's been because I fear rejection (I know, a whole 'nother kind of stupidity), but partly it's because I didn't want to piss off a woman who might not be interested.

But why wouldn't (most) women feel the same way about a (gentlemanly) pass as I learned to feel about passes by gay men? Even if she isn't interested in me—because she's a lesbian, or married, or in a relationship, or isn't attracted to me—why wouldn't she at least see it as a compliment?

Am I wrong about this?