I wasn’t the bouncer, but more often than not, I ended up taking on the role of deciding who stayed and who had to leave. It usually came down to whether someone fit the vibe, was liked by me or the group, or was participating in the way we expected — particularly sexually.
There was one young guy I still think about. He was sweet, handsome, and clearly vulnerable. He wasn’t interested in sex — he just wanted to talk or rest. He was dealing with mental health issues and needed care, not rejection. But I didn’t offer that. I kicked him out.
He was hurt and angry, and he lashed out, calling me names and accusing me of creating an unwelcoming space for someone like him — another gay man. And he was right to be angry. I treated him like a piece of meat, not a person. I acted like an animal. I am deeply ashamed of how I behaved.
His presence wasn’t something I was entitled to manage or reject just because he didn’t fit my expectations. I dehumanized someone who was already hurting. I failed him. And while I can’t change what I did, I can own it. I regret it fully, and I am truly sorry.
