Last night, I plucked up the courage and went on my own into a gay pub and I cannot tell you how scared I was, well maybe you know.  I had been circling the establishment for days, walking down to it then past it then round again and past it and if it hadn’t been for the fact I was bursting for the toilet and knew I would wet myself if I didn’t go in (because there was nowhere else to go within a short walking distance) I doubt it would have happened at all.

I walked up to the door and pushed it and everyone looked round and things were made worse by the fact I kind of half fell down a step before the bar itself.  I felt an idiot.  I ordered a drink and then went out into the beer garden where I lit up a smoke and just tried to get my bearings.  I applied logic to it and knew there was nothing to fear but I just sat there shaking for ages. People were walking past on their way home from work then suddenly loads and loads of men in shorts and t-shirts jogged past.  I smiled to myself, drank some more beer and just enjoyed the flesh show.

When I came back through to the bar, I went to the toilet and every single solitary part of me was saying “run Jonny run” but I wouldn’t give into it.  I was there, it had taken me ages to get there and I was going to stay until the fear subsided.  I walked back to the bar and ordered a soft drink and then another.  I stayed there for just over an hour and when I left I was calm and knew that next time it would be easier.  The landlady was lovely, really nice as were the regulars, they’d all been there and understood.  So yeah, I went to a gay bar.