Oh come now, you expect us to believe that all homosexuals aren't degenerate lust-ridden sodomites perpetually in search of boyflesh with the single-mindedness of some James Cameron-inspired cyborg from the future? I mean, by golly Focus on the Family and Jan and Paul Crouch say so, and God himself told them.
Actually, I suffer from the opposite problem. Many of my misguided fuzzily liberal friends expect me to be some sort of saint. I once admitted to a trio of lady friends that I had had a casual fling with someone, and these women (all of whom go through men quicker than I can go through kleenex) acted as if I had just proclaimed that my new sneakers were made out of human skin. I mean, really, just because I've never gone tap, tap, tap in a Glory Hole and never turned tricks on a street corner doesn't mean that I'm some sort St. Ignatius of Perpetual Virginity. I blame television for this trend. Outside of eurotrash TV, when was the last time a gay guy on a sitcom or drama got laid? Dharma and Greg go at it at like bunnies, but Greg's gay counterpart Will from Will and Grace might as well don a cassock, shave a tonsure into his head and begin chanting in latin. Don't get me started on Matt from Melrose Place, even Jane got lucky more often than he did.
But that's precisely the problem with stereotypes, even positive ones rob people of their individuality and attempt to force randomly associated people into some sort of homogenous blob. Gays come from every socio-economic and cultural background imaginable, it's entirely too ludicrous to expect us to follow some sort of uniform standard of behavior.