Rusty and I were about to become about half of the total straight population in the building.

I used to go to some fancy-shmancy art school in downtown Minneapolis, where I lived for about two and a half years. During that time I moved a total of eight times.

The final nine months spent there were the best ones of my stay. The reason for this was I had a parting of ways with my school, and was now just living and working — a simple life. Unfortunately my former job was school-related, so in one fell swoop I lost my apartment and job.

I went to go crash in the apartment of my best friend, who lived in a neighborhood right next to the Riverwest-like neighborhood where student housing was. All the students (my friends) were shocked when they found out where I was going to move, because it was — dun dun daahhhh — the gay community.

So off I was with 12 boxes of stuff and a coffee table. I moved into the studio apartment of Rusty, my friend. Rusty and I were about to become about half of the total straight population in the building.

Sooner than later Rusty and I had gained two more roommates — both straight white males. We were now known as pretty much the straight tenants in the building, seeing as we were cramming ourselves into that studio like tuna into the can.

The best part of this apartment building was its design. On its backside there was a giant communal deck/porch that wound its way up the building for floors.

Being the summer and fall months, much of everyone’s time was spent mingling about the giant structure. We had big grill-outs all the time up on the fourth floor.

During one of these grill-outs, we met a gay couple who lived just an apartment down from us and all of us became friends.

We shared movies and video games, had individual dinner parties just between our apartments, talked off many things and life was grand.

One night our neighbor came to our window and shouted to us, “Cracker white boys, stop looking at porn and get your scrawny asses out here fast. Or I’m gunna bust up your behymen.”

Fearing for our anal virginity, we all scurried out the back door on to the back porch. Our neighbor was about to share with us one of the secrets of the building. He handed us a pair of binoculars and told us to look up three windows up and four to the right — in a building that was next to ours.

In that window we saw with the lights on some of the funniest sex ever being had by two middle-aged people. Our neighbor told us that it was a nightly occurrence seeing as the woman involved was a woman of loose morals (among many other things).

Many nights were spent just sitting on our back porch watching that hooker bring tricks up to her apartment in another building close by. While we, the nosey neighbors, watched with telescopes and binoculars.

We drank coffee, beer or a super-saturated, sugary Kool-Aid concoction we created after being awake for three straight days playing “Dynasty Warriors 3.”

During one of those event-filled evenings of watching some poor man get crabs, our neighbor made the comment, “Look at them having sex just like straight people, flipping tacos.”

This intrigued us. Seeing that normally it was us, the straight people, who made fun of the way our gay neighbors had sex. So we asked him to explain.

His explanation was simple and complex all at once. It went as follows.

Straight people have sex like they are making tacos. First you spread the shell then you stick in the meat, and finish with a touch of sour cream.

After a good 30 minutes of laughing, we discussed his theory some more. We brought up all the different positions that a heterosexual couple could have. This served our defense of straight sex very little. Because he was getting at the point that all straight people do is boring sex that has no emotion or experimenting.

So on that night he made us promise that from now on, whatever it was we were screwing, we would not go at it like it was Taco Tuesday and try to put something more into our dirty deed.

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