Waking up in a location other than my bed, a 10:30 a.m. hike no longer seemed as desirable a start to my Sunday. I could cancel, I thought, glancing over at the sweet, but regrettable treat I’d indulged in the night before. There’s still 30 minutes till we’re supposed to meet. Maybe he hasn’t left yet.
No, no. Get up JJ. Get going.
Oh, al -
You’ve been so good all weekend, not breaking a single plan.
ALRIGHT! Okay. Eesh.
I ceased bickering with myself, but continued to grumble audibly as I climbed to my feet. Trying this whole honoring my commitments thing was tough. Seemingly less so, however, following a subsequent comparison of my own evening to that of my friend Royal.
The empty box of Junior Mints next to which I awoke after passing out on my chouch further propelled me towards Runyon Canyon. Memory of the accompanying blueberry waffles and heaps of honey-roasted peanuts prompted an increase in the speed of my walk. Yet, after an impromptu overnight at the Hollywood Roosevelt, Royal’s wanting to stay until check out to room service the Latin visitor at his down comforter clad bedside would have been more than understandable.
The only other gay I’d met that weekend looked like the type to want to take me home, tie me up, and murder me after three years of torture and captivity. Meanwhile, Royal had been getting cabeza under the smog-smothered stars, on the roof of a parking structure. And that was just his icing on the other guy’s face. He’d spent the previous night dancing and bumping taste buds with a completely different dude.
“I would have made you proud,” he said.
He did. Impressed and not the least bit jealous. I’m always happy to see a friend succeed, especially when they attribute much of that progress to me. If I’m exceptionally drawn to someone, I make my move. If I’m only mildly intrigued, I let them come to me. Inspired by my mental manhandling methods, Royal put both to use.
The essence of this enlightened approach to the romantic aspect of my personal life is that ass is just that, a facet.
“Sex is overrated and constantly hyped far beyond what it can deliver.” 69-year-old screen siren Raquel Welch said when discussing her memoir “Raquel: Beyond The Cleavage” in a recent interview on “Oprah.” “If you’re lucky, it occurs with some regularity, but it’s not the whole enchilada.”
If I like the waiter, it ain’t often I say no to the meat. That said, I’m equally content enjoying an evening with friends before going home and treating myself to dessert. And at least then the quality of service is always guaranteed.