Gay men stare at other men. With a fixed, appraising, sexual look. See through women.
Apparently, some straight women go to gay bars so they can dance unmolested and end up feeling strange. Invisible. Inexistent.
When I walked up to the gay bar, I felt, suddenly, a weight of stares as every man on the patio turned to check me out. In their concise and purposeful focus, these stares were like no gaze I had ever experienced. Not like the leering, overeloquent, overbearing stares of straight men. Not like the gaping, needy stares of drunk lesbians. Or the scuttling glances of sober lesbians. Refreshingly frank, forthright, and sexual.
They lit me up, then left me, once my femaleness was discovered.