Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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So I came out at work. To that guy I was flirting with, of course. I guess after working with him again I realized.. he’s cute and all, but not my type. Plus he’s younger, and while age itself is never a factor for me, maturity is. I guess that might be a bit of a lie too - I find age sexy. Older people just have more to talk about and are usually more interesting. But that’s aside from the point.

Okay, I know you’re dying to know how it happened so I’ll set it up for you. We’d been flirting all day (yep, still fun, but I realized with such clarity today that it wasn’t going anywhere. or maybe I was making sure it didn't. either way). Eventually one of my friends came in. A guy friend, who I immediately ditched drive-thru to go chat with for a minute. We were laughing and talking so easily that when I came back my co-worker playfully asked me if he was “really just a friend.”

I pretended to think about it for a second. “Hmm.. Well yeah. I mean I’m pretty gay, so…” I looked in the fridge to see what needed stocking.


“Wait, what?” He asked. I mean what is it with people? They always gotta make me come out twice. It’s like they’re so shocked they need to hear it again.

“I’m pretty gay,” I say again, nonchalantly walking to the back to gather various pop bottles.

When I’m in the back he beeps me over the headset. “So wait… Like, actually?”

“Uh, yeah. Actually.” I smile to myself in the back. And of course, as per usual, I’m also blushing and trying to control my buzzing pulse. I take a second to collect myself. Perfect timing to be back here. Why does it always feel so crazy saying the words? I guess because suddenly there is the possibility of implications. Questions. Discussions. Not that I’m unwilling to talk about it, I just don’t like being ambushed. I can imagine being tired as hell one day and suddenly another co-worker turning around while pouring coffee and asking me “so, you’re gay?” It just might not be my idea of the funnest shift. But whatever.

“So, you really are, huh?” He asks one more time.

“Yep.” By now I’m back out on the floor. We’re both busy with customers and more stocking for a few minutes. It gives me time to calm down. Look ma, I came out and nothing blew up. Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong. So far, so good.

“I mean.. You just can’t really tell, you know? I’m just surprised I guess.” And then he went on to tell some story about a gay hair dresser he went to as a kid. As if I’m so concerned. Oh, good, you’ve met one of us before. Yes, I’ll tell Charles you said hi at the next gay convention... But all together not a bad reaction. It’s just that it’s… boring after a while, hearing everybody justify how much they are “okay with that kind of thing”. Most of the time I couldn’t care less one way or the other. Although it did lead to a discussion of how I totally need a lesbian hair dresser - which I freaking do. Desperately.

Getting off track again.

“So am I the only person here [at work] who knows, then?”

“Uh, yeah I guess so. I mean I don’t think anybody else has guessed on their own. I know I kind of look straight.”


He laughs. “Yeah, you do. But I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, I was kind of wondering after you mentioned having a giant pink mohawk in college, and how you have a skateboard and everything. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else.”

“It’s not really a secret.” I tell him. "It's not like I'm trying to hide it." Actually I’d be relieved if the biggest gossip at the store could just spread it around for me. It would make things easier. But maybe it would be okay not telling too many people, either.

“Still. I couldn’t tell.” I think this is an odd statement. Well, you can’t TELL I’m gay from just meeting or seeing me, therefore I must be in the closet. Weird reasoning, but I guess it’s also fair, since he is the only person I’ve told so far, and it’s not like there haven’t been chances. But maybe he’s the only one I’ve wanted to tell. It even feels kind of fun that he knows.

I just kind of giggle to myself. “Anyway, you really wouldn’t be surprised at all if you met me in college.” He nods and smiles.

We finish the rest of the shift just acting like normal, then when he’s about 10 minutes from leaving he motions me over from the sandwich bar.


“So like… I mean, just out of curiosity… Just for the sake of if a girl walked in, I could point her out to you… What’s your type?”

“My type?” I laugh. “Uh. I mean, girls who like girls for one.” I think my supervisor can hear. I hope so. “I’m not really picky.”

“Yeah but… Come on, tell me.”


“Blondes? I guess.” Although a brunette never hurt. I laugh. “It doesn’t really matter…. they just have to be stacked.” I mime having two big boobs.

This makes him laugh.
“Yeah, for sure. Like 36DD?”

 Such a teenage boy, this guy. He's grinning.
“Yeah that’ll definitely do the trick.” Now I’m thinking of Erin’s tits in a bikini. Her tanned, flat stomach. Hip bones.. Damn.
Yep, I’m definitely gay. Well, back up to 99% gay anyway.