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Holly Randall

Holly Randall’s Gaydar Is Broken

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Holly Randall!

Before Holly Randall was the world’s best erotic photographer, she wrote a column for Sex.com. Because Holly Randall isn’t just a beautiful woman and talented photographer, she’s also a great writer!

Holly’s been kind enough to dig up some of her old pieces and let us re-share them with the internet.

Today, Holly Randall has taken some time off from shooting the best erotic photos for Playboy, Twisty’s, and HollyRandall.com to talk about the difficulties of dating with a broken gaydar.

He was my type: tall, skinny, intellectual, and a bit shy. He was also slightly punky, a testament to my high school years when I used to wear a lot of black and listen to Screeching Weasel and Minor Threat, and decided that dyeing my hair blue was a really good idea.

He was the teacher’s assistant in my Greek Mythology class at UCLA, and unlike the professor who tended to spit into his audience as he released his incredibly fiery diatribes, my crush remained quiet next to the projector screen. He was either reading his notes or pretending to be mildly amused by the professor’s enthusiasm on the subject of sympathetic magic and the importance of Lamellae plates in magic rituals. And I imagine he also noticed that the excitement produced an abundance of salvia (which has no choice but to be expelled somehow) in our learned professor’s mouth.

In group sessions, which were held once a week, I was his favorite. I must admit, I’m a bit of a teacher’s pet– I always sit in the front of the class, answer and ask questions, and arrive early. By the second week my professors always knew my name. This gorgeous TA always praised my essays, my literary interpretations, and my participation in discussions. I was sure he was hitting on me. I knew my professor did. 

Our closest moment was when class turned to the discussions of witches– and I posed the question as to why they were always associated with brooms. My interpretation was that the broom has always been a symbol of female domesticity, and “witches” were in truth indepent women who did not bow to the long held men-are-in-charge rule. The fact that they are rumored to fly upon these instruments made me think it was a direct “fuck you” to the patriarchal system– they took this broom symbol and “flew away” on it– rising above the situation, if you will. He thought this method of thinking was brilliant, and encouraged, I hit the library that evening to find out exactly where this witch/broom association began.

I sent him an email the next day with my findings– apparently “witches” used to use broomsticks to administer hallucinogenic drugs that were a part of their faith. Drugs enter the bloodstream very quickly through the vaginal walls, and the drugs were often applied to the end of the broomstick and the pole was thenceforth thrust– well, you can imagine where.

He was thrilled by my findings and it was brought up in class a few days later, as he praised my resourcefulness to the rest of the students I turned bright red and pulled my sweater hood over my face. Wow, he must really want to sleep with me, I thought.

So finally, the day before the finals (which of course as the TA he did not grade) I told him I had a crush and I asked him out. He pulled me outside of the classroom into the hallway, and looked at me like I was insane.

“First of all,” he said apologetically, “I’m incredibly flattered. You aren’t like most girls, I’ll give you that. But there are two reasons I can’t go out with you. First of all, I’m already in a relationship.”

“I figured,” I grumbled. “Guys like you are always taken.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then he looked at me askance, and studied my expression briefly. “Do you have any idea what the second reason is?”

“Ummm, is it because as a TA you can’t date students?”

“Noooo… though that probably is a rule.” Again, he looked at me. “You really don’t know what the second reason is?”

I shook my head.

“Holly, I’m gay. You must be the only student in class who didn’t pick up on that.”

I was flabbergasted. I knew I had bad gaydar, but this was ridiculous. “Are…are you sure?” I stammered. “I mean, have you ever tried girls?”

He smiled sympathetically at me. “Let me tell you Holly, if I ever decided to give girls a try you’d be the first person I would call.” He gave me a reassuring pat on the back and went back into class.

Walking back to my car, I felt a fool for a few minutes. And then something hit me.

He told me I was smart, he gave me top grades on my homework and group discussions, and he was interested in what I had to say. And he was gay. Which means, he never said any of those things trying to get in my pants. He said it because he actually meant it.

Suddenly my spirits lifted. I had been appreciated for my mind, my intelligence. And you know what? I will take that compliment over any “Hey nice ass!” remark from a straight guy any day.

See guys! Seduce the brain, not the body!

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I have to wear my glasses when I go to the theater. If you want to reach me directly, email me at chicodustyblog@gmail.com, add me to your circles on Google+ or Tweet at me on Twitter.

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