A fag hag is not your friend. She's an insult.
I met him at a Halloween party about three weeks after I moved to Washington, D.C. I was a Corporate Whore. He was a Bath House. I was smitten. After only a little small talk, he said, “I’m about to leave with this boy I like. Next time can you talk to me earlier?”
We ran into each other several more times before I managed to get him to show any real interest in me. Then, I happened to see his best female friend on the street a couple days before Christmas, and she made sure I took his number. I texted him on December 30th. My heart jumped into my urethra when he called me back that afternoon with an invitation to a champagne pregame. I snuck out of my own New Year’s Eve party, stopped by his, then returned to the festivities at my place.