Huh? Male Novelist Not Gay?

Thank you so, so much for this, really. I appreciate you waiting all this time for readers like me! Oh, it’s Kimberly, K-I-M… oh, you probably know how to spell it. Well, thank you again, I really enjoyed the novel.

Actually, before I go, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask...

It’s just, well, I wanted to inquire if you’re sure that you’re not a homosexual. I don’t have anything against gays, of course—it’s 2022—but the thought of a grown man sitting down at a laptop and typing out his thoughts and feelings... well, that just seems tailor-made for a man who doesn’t know how to play baseball. You must be gay.

A girlfriend? Stephanie? Well, I’m sure you’re very happy together, but does she know of your affliction? Or is it something you two just don’t mention? Does she use certain—how do I put this—toys mimicking the genital characteristics of biological males? How short is her hair?

Not to be crass, but do you really mean to tell me that after you’ve just had a good writing session, your brain thoroughly picked, emotions laid out on the page—I read the book, and it has some very traumatizing parts that gay people probably know from heart—and there’s zero part of you that wishes the girl living in your house was actually a man, ready to take you into his strong arms? I mean, this is lunacy!

You could possibly be the big spoon. Anything's possible, I guess. I don’t attribute different levels of masculinity to which position does the plowing. But unless you’re a sports journalist, film critic, or political reporter, it’s hard to imagine a male writer, especially a novelist, not craving the tender touch of another man at the end of the day, his mind sprouting such poetic writing from years of teenage angst and ostracization.

At this point, I’d take anything—do you bake? Garden? Who is your favorite musician? What’s your go-to cocktail? How do you take your coffee? Were you a shy child? How was your relationship with your parents? Oh, how could I forget! Are you discreetly bisexual? Will your tell-all memoir reveal that management silenced your sexuality due to sales? I won’t tell. I promise.

Oh, dear—I’ve been told my time is up. Alright, satisfying answer to my question be damned, it was still nice to meet you, even though you’re allegedly proving my intuition incorrect. If you’ll excuse me, I have to call my friend and report on our encounter. Thanks again, I look forward to the second novel and the inevitable boyfriend reveal. Thank you for your time!