I recently experienced the gay club scene for the first time. I’m almost 23 years old, I came out when I was 20, and I finally went to da club. It was everything I expected and nothing that I thought it would be all at the same time. The cover charge was cringe-worthy, but the drinks were sweet and cheap (like my taste in men). (Kidding.) The atmosphere was intimate. The energy was contagious. The dance floor was dangerous. The night was lit.

Smoking was allowed inside and by the end of the night, I felt as though I had contracted lung cancer. My friends were trying to make me dance with people I did not want to dance with (jerks). Some guys took their shirts off, even though we all would have preferred otherwise. Some guys did not take their shirts off, even though we all would have preferred otherwise. The bathroom was small and way too close. These were all things that could use some work, but I almost didn’t care; there’s something about being in a place where no one cares who you are, they only care that you’re there.

At the gay bar, people stare at you because they think you’re cute. In the real world, people stare at us because they think we’re wrong. On the dance floor, people move their body with yours because it’s fun and we’re alive and why not. In the real world, people move their body away from us because we’re wrong. In the gay club, people see people because we’re all the same. In the real world, people see freaks because we’re wrong.

By no means does the entire world outside the gay club believe gays are bad, gays are evil, gays are wrong. But in the entire world outside the gay club, sometimes it’s hard to find the people who stare at you because you’re cute, dance with you because it’s fun, and see you as a person. That’s why I’ll be happy to pay the cringe-worthy cover charge when I go back.