When I told a group of rowdy straight people to calm down and respect the space they were in (The Eagle, Atlanta, a gay men’s leather bar), they asked why they “couldn’t be there like anyone else.” I explained that this was our place, that they could go anywhere in the city. So this straight boy leans close to my face - really close, his mouth centimeters from my mouth - and menacingly says, “you’re place is on your knees, bitch.”
So naturally I pushed him away by his shoulders, used my nails to claw the side of his neck, and pulled him by his shirt back to me - then I crushed my half full PBR can in his face. Not the side of his face - the square middle, I felt his nose under the tin. He ran away. My queers started brawling with his straight friends and then we went to IHOP and ate french fries and laughed about it.
This fierce queer is the love of my life. I’ve never been more proud than I was on that night.
Best story evvvaaaar, I fangirl grrlyman and femmetrash so hard.