A short story a series

I had come so far. The blackness trailed off into the night as the taxi left. I sat there, storming inside. I came to a gate: on the gate were a thousand faces: black, white, bearded, with goatees, women with lipstick, big noses, some kind, some suffering. One of the faces said
“Gee, there’s a lot of arrogant young people here tonight.”
And the faces sniggered, sniffed and snorted.
“Why did you come here?” Asked a face with a goatee.
“I came-” I started.
“You should have come with friends.” Another said, “Haven’t you got any friends?”
They roared then, the faces, laughing and in hysterics. It wasn’t lost on me: it was laughter that was meant to harm.
“I came,” I said again, “’Cause I want to be special to someone. I mean I need to be special to someone. I need to find her. Let me in!”
I went up to them and pulled a drag queens wig off. They yelled, they hissed.
“LET” I kicked, I punched,
“ME” I howled like a wolf,
“IN!” I ran full force and fell back to the ground, utterly wretched.

“Sweetie,” I heard a woman say. I looked, she was an older woman with black hair and a cruel mouth, so mismatched to what she was saying. Her name was Mary.
“Sweetie,” she said again, “Don’t be sad. We didn’t mean it.”
“I want to go in” I said. “I don’t care about coming out. The point is to go in. Into the gay scene.”
“No. Go back home in a taxi.” Mary seemed serious.
“I want a girl and you are the gate to her,” I said.
“This is no gate,” Mary said, “This is what you become.”