If today, June 10th, is your birthday…
You share it with John Edwards and Elliot Spitzer.
Maybe Anthony Weiner will buy you all a cake.
…Shaped like a PENIS!
OHHH!
Zung.
-
|
|
Lechers in love.
It always prompts my smile, seeing the sweet, subtle signs of a couple in love. Especially gay couples. Should they look my way, I nod: silent congratulations for their romantic success, a thank you for the encouragement it provides the rest of us still striving to achieve such blissful intimacy.
Usually, my acknowledgment is met with a modest blush, the sheepish lowering of eyes, and a guiltily giddy grin. They appreciate me appreciating them appreciating each other. Then we leave it at that.
Usually…
The other night, I spotted a pair of 40-something gay men marching playfully through Target, one in front of the other, carrying a large, long, flat box in tandem. The lead was sporting a purple tiara from the Dollar Spot, the tag flip-flopping in sync with their bouncy step. I couldn’t help but beam. They were fucking adorable –
“MMM, sexy legs! Where are you going, baby? Can we come with?”
– at first.
“I’m boy crazy…” the crowned one read from a pin on my bag, “Us too. This line is shorter. Come over here.”
“I’m good,” I stayed put, continuing to unload my cart.
“What’s on your butt on?” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “What’s on your butt on?”
“Hmm?” I inquired politely, but reluctantly, turning around and glancing at the flare dotting the flap of my satchel. “Oh, it’s –”
“What’s on your butt – on?” The lead interrupted as his companion began to snicker. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“A lover,” my phone baRRRANG, sounding the receipt of a new text message. “That’s him, now.”
“What’s he doing? He should be here shopping with you.”
“Not that kind of lover.”
“Boooooty calllll! Mmm, boi,” they all but licked their lips; visions of my impending dalliance clearly flickering – fast, past foreplay and right into fucking – behind their increasingly lecherous eyes. “Look at all that TP. 24 rolls. You’re stocking UP. He must be keeping you busy.”
Annnd – “Heh.” I was done. “Have a good night, gentleman.”
“Oh we will,” he adjusted his tiara as they began to back pedal, begrudgingly, away. “Not as good as you –” their shit eating grins grew even wider, “but we will.”
And I’m sure they did. I’m sure they will have a lifetime of GREAT nights. Because you know what those in the polyandrous and fetish communities say:
The couple that cruises together…
No is not never.
No
it
ain’t.
Not always.
Sometimes,
sometimes it’s just
not now.
As when,
say,
you attempt to make out with a boi,
a man you hardly know,
and – oh shit –
he moves his lips
out
of
your
way.
Sucks?
Yah…
okay…
But it does
not
mean
that he won’t stand still
one day.
One day he may.
And until then,
there are PLENTY
of others.
Others
with whom to share.
Share your mouth.
Share your body.
Share your heart.
Until then,
there are plenty of others.
Others with whom to play,
and even,
maybe even
say I love you.
Here’s lookin’ at you, sexual and intellectual peer.
Gay, straight, man, woman – NO ONE should address their lover as “kid” or “kiddo.”
It is not sexy. Not sexy at all. Just all sorts of condescending, with a faiiint smack of pedophilia.
Alternately, however, most everyone will always have a desire to be romanced in Paris. So feel free to channel Bogart in that sense. Surrriously, by all means –
Channel away!
Hey, hey boi at a lesbian bar. 1:1
No one cares what your hair looks like, fool.
You’re at a lesbian bar.
The hottest guys are girls.
So quit cruisin’ and just listen to Lady Gaga and DANCE.
