My instinct told me that I was the most beefy of all of the guys standing in the breezeway—a silly notion seeming I only stand 5 foot 6. He came within inches. I tried to ward him off by telling him that no one is trying to mess with him. I pleaded for him just to go away. He spit in my face and I knew that I was no match for him. I immediately ran toward the bouncers of the gay club. I got behind the huge door man. The guy was quickly in pursuit behind me, fired up. Out of nowhere a punch landed on the right side of my face. It was the basher's friend from the passenger seat. I swung, at which point the basher kicked me in the stomach. The bouncers quickly yelled at me to get in the club.

I tried to keep my composure, but ended up in the bathroom stall, crying, ashamed that I wasn't able to protect myself, my friend or my fellow gay brothers. And then the worst happened...

To my dismay, one of the bouncers found me and told me I had to leave. Leave, I said. I've been gay bashed by a stranger. I was protecting my friends and in turn was socked and kicked in the stomach. He stayed firm to his orders. As I walked up the stairs of Splash Bar NYC, I saw one of the managers. I pleaded with him not to kick me out because I was afraid the guy and his friend were still out there. His response: "I don't know anything about that!"

In case people haven't heard or read about this, it's pretty awful:

About.com: Ramone Johnson's Blog: I Was Gaybashed.

A snippet: