This week, on Pretty Little Fact Checkers:
Leann Rimes wants to be the next Angelina Jolie. I.e.: the other woman with a whore, Imeanheart! The other woman with a heart of gold.
Lady Gaga rebels against deep vein thrombosis while testing the boundaries of American Airline’s in-flight wardrobe policy.
AND – I helm a two-part Bieber vs. Beavers. Yes, two-part. TWO.
The things we do for you people…Sheesh.
It has been years since I have applied baseball metaphors to my sex life. This is partially because I took great relief in the opportunity to stop pretending I had any interest in women or sports the moment the words, “I’m gay,” tumbled out of my mouth. Mostly, though, I just don’t weRRRq with such a broad spectrum.
A little innocent making out may be satisfactory on occasion. I have conceded to that before. But in my mind – in my bed, on the back seat of my car, outside of the parking structure near GYM bar – there are really only two bases:
Sex and everything but.
Why not? It is humanity’s favorite pastime. And so long as you never step up to bat with out a glove –
PLAY with those balls!
“If JJ weren’t gay, he’d be the hottest guy here,” a straight male dodgeballer admitted to two of my friends, last season.
Naturally, they ran over and told me immediately.
“What?” I was perplexed, but not offended. “That doesn’t even…What?”
However nonsensical, no supposedly heterosexual man or woman talks about someone of the same sex in that sense unless they have their eye pressed up against the keyhole of the closet door.
Yet, as any homosexual will tell you, coming out is an exceptionally unique and personal process. High school bullies are bound to try to expedite it through force and ridicule. And well-meaning friends and family may attempt to usher us along with thinly veiled references to the levels of support we can expect to receive. But no matter the deluge of derision or compassion, it is only after we accept ourselves that we may finally move forward.
Once he takes a step in that direction, I’ll surely be open to letting him take me every which way. Judging from the paperback romance novel-worthy superlatives I have already heard ascribed to his South Pole – I would be remiss not to.
Consider it research for my own salacious literary endeavors.
You’re welcome.
I hardly know her.
Alright, okay. A lack of acquaintanceship has never stopped me before, but –
She is a GIRL!
I ain’t that desperate.
However…
If her boyfriend is also part of the equation…
Mix that drink, grab the lube, and let’s – get – STARTED.
If I’m rarely so sloppy as to fall on my face, but occasionally (read: frequently as of late) blacked out enough that I don’t remember making out with people by the time I get around to bumping into them again – does that sound like I have a problem with alcohol or promiscuity?
Juuust kidding.
I would never make her answer that.
Mother may know best, but in this case it is probably best that she knows less.
© 2010 JJ Wienkers. All Rights Reserved.
Designed + developed by SilvasDesign.
