Date #60: Making It Up

Scooter showed up at the library--again.

SCOOTER: I have an idea.

Instant terror seized my body. It was like hearing Daphne Rubin-Vega sing "I Dreamed a Dream."

SCOOTER: I'm going to be your fact-checker.
ME: Excuse me?
SCOOTER: Everyone's doubting the validity of the blog. You don't want to end up like James Frey, do you?
ME: On the top of the New York Times bestseller list?
SCOOTER: And disgraced for life.
ME: Disgraced for life on the top of the New York Times bestseller list?
SCOOTER: I'm going to see just how much you spin when it comes to these dates.

Part of me was intrigued to find out how he was going to do that.

ME: Do you think I spun our date?
SCOOTER: No, you were fairly accurate. But then again I give you good material so you don't need to spin. But what happens if you go on a boring date?
ME: There's no way to know. You can't follow me on a date until I come across a boring one and then see how I write about it.
SCOOTER: Au contraire.
ME: You know how to use au contraire correctly?
SCOOTER: I'm going to set you up with a really dull friend of mine and then I'm going to go with you--it'll be a double date.
ME: And who are you bringing on this double date?

I swear I'm not making this s**t up.

ME: Are you kidding me, Turner?
TURNER: He came by to see Brian and I was here, and he seems cool.

We were at his apartment redoing the painting job we had done earlier. Brian hated the color and so we were slapping on another layer. Brian and I were avoiding the fact that he was back with Connor--why is it whenever my friends do something wrong I never find out directly from them but rather by having the guy they shouldn't be dating pick up their cell phones?

Okay, so maybe it doesn't happen that often.

Turner was on the mend from having his old (hidden) love Gary brought back into his life and he planned to relinquish any thoughts of him by going on a date with Scooter.

ME: This is just weird.
TURNER: Why?
ME: Because you're the new guy. Scooter was the old guy.
BRIAN: It's like Jan from The Brady Bunch going on a date with Jan from The Brady Bunch Variety Hour.
ME: Bingo!
TURNER: No Bingo! It's not like that at all, and besides, it's just a date.

Just a date--Ha. It's always just a date until something bad happens and I end up writing a blog entitled "Date #79: Helping Scooter and Turner Move In Together."

BRIAN: I'm tired of this. Let's go get Antonio's. I need tortellini pizza.
ME: I second that.
TURNER: I third. Brian, why didn't you like the color anyway?
BRIAN: It just didn't do it for me. It was all right, but I mean, I have to live in this room, you know?
ME: Fair enough. We'll talk more when I have pizza in front of me.

At the pizza place, Brian went on about his problems with pizza.

BRIAN: I was listening to that radio show you like--
ME: This American Life. (www.thislife.org)
BRIAN: Right, and they had this guy on talking about how he spent years looking for the right sofa.
TURNER: Sofas are important.
BRIAN: Yeah, but they compared it to him looking for a girlfriend.
ME: I know that episode. It's about how the guy kept finding great couches but none could live up to his expectations.
BRIAN: And now it's me with the paint. And me with guys.
ME: Oh, do we want to go there?
BRIAN: It's not just Con...him. It's just that he's so, like, not there?
TURNER: Ellusive.
ME: He's Mr. Ellusive.
BRIAN: And I never have to worry about him living up to expectations because he's never even tried to meet my expectations.
ME: Trust me, he can't.
BRIAN: And because he doesn't try, I'm never really disappointed.
TURNER: So no effort is good effort?
ME: Apparently.
BRIAN: I'm never going to find the right paint.

We all took a moment to suck in that depressing metaphor, and then ordered more pizza.

Scooter called me later to give me the details about the boring guy I would be taking out on a date.

ME: Scooter, is this really necessary?
SCOOTER: Hey, this is the only way to make sure you're not making this s**t up.
ME: Fine, but ixnay on the blog when it comes to urner-Tay.
SCOOTER: What?
ME: It's pig latin.
SCOOTER: I'm lost.
ME: Now or eternally?
SCOOTER: Huh.
ME: What's his name?
SCOOTER: Doug.

Doug didn't seem to be too boring. Shy maybe, but not that boring. And he was dorky in a cute sort of way. Scooter, Turner, Doug, and I went to Kabob and Curry and after a few minutes I realized that Scooter's hope of this date being boring was going to fail miserably. Doug was making great conversation and had already managed to make me laugh several times. I excused myself to use the men's room and Scooter followed me.

SCOOTER: Horrible, right?
ME: Scooter, he's great.
SCOOTER: Are you kidding?
ME: I think you actually found me a wonderful guy.
SCOOTER: Dude, he's a lameass.
ME: He's your friend.
SCOOTER: So are you.
ME: Thanks.
SCOOTER: But you're not a lameass.
ME: And neither is he. But don't worry, good dates are actually even harder to write about than bad ones.
SCOOTER: Oh really?
ME: Yeah, because when you're given good material there's always that temptation to embellish it just a little to make it perfect.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I realize this now.

SCOOTER: All right then, let's kick things up a notch.

Did he just use an Emeril-ism?

We quickly finished our meal, but I could see Scooter had some kind of plan in his mind. I could see the little hampster in his head running around in that rickety wheel he calls a consciousness. Then it hit me--about the same time as it hit me.

What's the best way to add a little drama to a date?

SCOOTER: Hey, you guys want to hit up the club?

Turner and Doug were down for it, so I coudn't very well say no, even though it's going against everything I believe (see Date #21).

Oddly enough, nobody we knew was there. We started dancing and I smiled at Scooter as if to say, Your plan failed Frattie, but next year in Jersulam.

He smiled back. We moved close together for a quick dance-convo.

SCOOTER: This is going to be the most embellished date.
ME: Why do you say that?
SCOOTER: Because nothing's happening.
ME: I'm enjoying the company of friends and a great guy.
SCOOTER: Who wants to read that shit?
ME: Did you ever think maybe it's not what I write about but how I write it?
SCOOTER: Like making stuff up?
ME: No, like just being honest about how I feel about things. Maybe that's what makes you like reading it?
SCOOTER: Nah, that's not it. I only like it when bad stuff happens to you.
ME: Wow, you're an asshole.

At that, I walked away. There you go, a little drama for you, Scooter.

I couldn't understand what the point of the whole night was. To make me look like a liar? A fraud? To try and prove that it's impossible to meet someone nice? Something has to go wrong? Thoughts were spinning in my head. It didn't help that "It's Raining Men" was playing over the speakers. I wanted to go back to dancing and just have fun with Doug, but once again, Scooter had gotten under my skin.

Why couldn't he have just stayed...Well, he didn't really go anywhere, but...Why couldn't he have just not--Oh just cut to the Friend convo, or do people not believe he's real either?

FRIEND: Honey, this shit's too hot to make up.
ME: That boy--something about him--
FRIEND: Can I pose a suggestion?
ME: Go ahead.
FRIEND: Could it be that you like him?
ME: Uh--no.
FRIEND: Should I bring up your little snow romp?
ME: Don't get me wrong. I may be attracted to him, but I don't have actual feelings for him.
FRIEND: I don't blame you. I don't have feelings at all. But I still think something's going on there.
ME: If anything ever happened between Scooter and I, it would be based purely on sexual tension, clashing personalities, and intricate codependecies based on psychogical deformities in both our characters.
FRIEND: In other words, your parents?
ME: Pretty much. I need to find a nice boy. Someone to--
FRIEND: --Settle for? Like that awful paintjob you talked about?
ME: What are you saying?
FRIEND: Settling means you ended up where you thought you were going to and that disappoints you, but who would have ever thought you'd wind up with Scooter?
ME: That's not a reason to date someone.
FRIEND: And yet there's no reason not to give it a shot, right?

Scooter came up the stairs after me--he chased, I'll give him that. I stood looking out on the dance at all the happy dancing people. That's what I dislike most about clubs--it always seems like everyone's having a better time than you even when you yourself are having a pretty good time. Doug was dancing with Turner, there were gays everywhere getting down to the Weather Girls, and I was upstairs listening--once again--to Scooter apologize for being Scooter.

SCOOTER: It's just hard for me to accept that I feel this way.
ME: What? Feeling what way?

Damn me and my need to write a nice paragraph while someone is talking.

SCOOTER: Your blog is just--I mean, you're funny, and smart, and even when you fuck up you say you fuck up, and I like that about you, and I just wanted to think maybe it wasn't true, because when I'm around you I forget a lot of those things about you.
ME: So...what are you saying?
SCOOTER: I'm saying if all that's true, then I think you're someone I might want to be with--like for real.
ME: Scooter, we're better as friends. We decided this.
SCOOTER: Maybe I want to undecide it.
ME: You can't undecide something.
SCOOTER: Undo it.
ME: No.
SCOOTER: Kevin--
ME: It would be a huge--
SCOOTER: Kiss me.
ME: Excuse me?
SCOOTER: Say yes.
ME: To what?
SCOOTER: Say you'll kiss me and then say no.

What the--

ME: We're on dates with other people.
SCOOTER: Wow, I don't care. Say I can kiss you.
ME: Scooter--
SCOOTER: Come on.
ME: Do it.

And he did.

Why do I always end up at a club kissing Scooter?

...And why do I like it so much?

Date #59: Scooter Strikes Back

It came without warning.

There I was carrying books to the back stacks of the library when I heard a voice behind me.

VOICE: Man, that ass looks like it needs a tappin'.

I turned around. At which point, someone jumped at me causing me to yelp and drop all the books on the ground.

That someone was Scooter.

ME: Scooter?
SCOOTER: Did you miss me?
ME: What the hell are you doing here?
SCOOTER: I'll take that as a 'Yes.'
ME: Aren't you supposed to be--

It occurred to me I wasn't sure at all where it was Scooter had ended up going these past few months.

ME: --Somewhere?
SCOOTER: I'm back for a visit, and I'm taking you out.
ME: Out where? It's snowing.
SCOOTER: Fine. You ruined the surprise. We're going to go play in the snow.
ME: Yeah, I don't think so.
SCOOTER: How much longer are you going to be at work?
ME: Another ten minutes--
SCOOTER: So?
ME: But then I want to go home and relax and--
SCOOTER: I don't believe this. I come home expecting fanfare and you give me 'I have to go home and do my hair.'

The truth? I was really glad to see him, but regardless of that, you need to have a certain amount of energy for Scooter that I did not have after working eight hours at the library.

ME: I'll end up falling asleep on you.
SCOOTER: Oh baby--
ME: That's not--
SCOOTER: Please.
ME: Scooter--
SCOOTER: Puh-lease...
ME: You're a child.

He grabbed me and pushed me up against the stacks putting his lips within kissing distance of mine.

SCOOTER: Say no now.
ME: What are you? The bad guy in a Lifetime movie?
SCOOTER: I thought if I tried the passionate approach.
ME: Not going to work. Go play with Brian.
SCOOTER: I will--later. I want to play with you now.

Then I heard my supervisor's voice--

VOICE: Kevin?

Terrific. I was going to get caught practicing homosexuality in the stacks.

ME: One second!
SCOOTER: Say you'll come or I'll moan loudly.
ME: You wouldn't dare.
SCOOTER: Ohhhh...
ME: Fine! Fine! Fine! I'll go!

He backed away and smiled.

SCOOTER: See you in ten.

Fifteen minutes later we were at the park adjacent to the library attempting to build a gay snow man and failing miserably.

The snow was pretty light, which is nice if you're cleaning it off your car, but not so nice if you want it to be molded into something resembling the baby of Liberace and Charles Nelson Reilly.

SCOOTER: And I even brought funny gay glasses.
ME: Maybe next time, Scooter.
SCOOTER: First day I show up back in Rhode Island, it snows. Pretty cool, huh?
ME: Yeah, I have a sneaking suspicion you might be Santa Clause.
SCOOTER: And have you been a good little boy this year?

Now for the question that was bugging me--

ME: So where have you been?

Scooter shrugged, and for once a smart-ass answer didn't come out of his mouth. As a matter of fact, no answer came for awhile, and then--

SCOOTER: Kevin, I'm dying.

WHAT?

SCOOTER: Yeah...no.

He laughed and I tossed snow at his face. He wiped it off and came running at me, sending me headfirst into the meager foundation of Augustin St. Luca, our snowman. He tried tickling me, but I resisted by attempting to knee him in the stomach. We were both laughing pretty hard and then...he kissed me. And we kissed. We kissed for like...a minute. It was...actually...nice.

And then--

SCOOTER: God, I want to #$%^ you right now.

Reality has a way of tapping you on the shoulder and reminding you that you're with an oversized, gay frat boy.

I got up and started walking back towards my car.

SCOOTER: What?
ME: What? We were having a really unexpected nice moment, and you ruined it.
SCOOTER: By saying what I feel?
ME: I can't believe this. I just kissed you--and it wasn't the first time! But this time I actually liked it. And then you have to go and be you like that.
SCOOTER: Gee, sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have even come back to say hi to you.
ME: Maybe not, since I actually thought I might have missed you until just then.
SCOOTER: I missed you too!
ME: Okay!
SCOOTER: Okay!

Gah--Poppyseed Bagel!

Scooter sat down in the snow and looked like he was contemplating something. I started to walk back towards the car, then thought better of it and went to sit down next to him. After a minute or two he spoke.

SCOOTER: Okay, the thing is...I know about the blog.
ME: What? How?
SCOOTER: One of the guys I went out on a date with knew about it. He asked me, 'Hey, are you Scooter?' And he showed me the blog.
ME: Wait a second, where was this guy from?
SCOOTER: Providence.
ME: Then how did you meet him? Had he moved?
SCOOTER: No, he met me in Providence.
ME: When were you last in Providence?
SCOOTER: I've been in Providence.
ME: You've been in Providence?
SCOOTER: I've been in Providence.

This was going nowhere.

ME: I don't...Wait...Did you--
SCOOTER: I moved back in with my parents a week after I came back from an awful road trip that ended with me being broke and messed up in a whole lot of ways.
ME: So...you didn't move?
SCOOTER: No.
ME: You've just...been here?
SCOOTER: Yup.

Scooter stood up and helped me up and we started walking back to the car.

ME: So why didn't you tell us you came back?
SCOOTER: Because I was embarrassed.
ME: Why?
SCOOTER: Because I had all these big plans and they all fell through and I felt like a failure.

I stopped him.

ME: Scooter, I'm a college graduate who's still working at the same place he was working at when he finished high school, I have no prospects, not a lot of money, credit car debt, two worthless diplomas, and a bunch of slutty gay friends. And guess what? I'm supposedly not doing that bad. We're all failures, Scooter. Some of us just hide it better than others.

We got into the car and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

ME: So you're staying, or, not not leaving again?
SCOOTER: Yeah, I'm hanging around--at least until I can get my shit together.
ME: Good. I'm glad. Don't be a stranger.
SCOOTER: It's been hard. I've had to stop going to clubs, bookstores--
ME: Pornography stores--
SCOOTER: Exactly.

After sitting in the car and talking for a little while, we agreed that this would be our last rendevous in the snow. Scooter and I will always work better as friends than anything else.

FRIEND: Does that mean you didn't blow him in the car?
ME: No, I did not.
FRIEND: You have too many friends. Less chat, more action.
ME: Can you believe he was just hiding out in Providence for four months?
FRIEND: Where?
ME: Have there been any extra noises coming out of your closet lately?
FRIEND: You shut your dirty mouth. My closet boys know how to stay quiet.
ME: Lately it seems like there's this giant rush to leave Rhode Island.
FRIEND: Honey, this is the way it goes. You grow up somewhere, you move somewhere else, you live in New York, you live in L.A., you die in Key West with a nineteen-year-old boytoy at your side. That's a respectable life.

When I came home from the date, I debated calling Brian. Did he know about Scooter? I called his cell phone just to see if he'd say anything.

VOICE: Hello?
ME: Hi...Is Brian there?
VOICE: Sorry, I picked up his phone. He's in the shower.
ME: Oh, that's okay. Just tell him--
VOICE: Aren't you going to say hi?
ME: Hi?
VOICE: Kev, it's Connor.

So apparently people die in threes, and return in twos.

Date #58: Wonderwall

Let me tell you a story about my friend Turner...

I was on a date with a really cute guy named Gary who had just moved back to Rhode Island from Boston after graduating from college last spring. We were having a good date--

Actually, let me rephrase that.

We were having one of the best dates I've had in awhile.

Here are a few of the things we have in common:

A love of Dave Sedaris, Sarah Vowell, and other humorists with funny voices.
A fascination with VH1 Reality Television.
A dislike of swingsets (for different reasons, but still!)
A dual love of theater and english studies.
A bad experience with chicken nuggets.

GARY: You know, the kind you bake in the oven.
ME: Oh, I can't deal with those.
GARY: Me either. Just the smell of it--
ME: You need to stop there or I'll gag. I got food poisoning from those things.
GARY: Me too!

I was starting to smile uncontrollably. For some reason or another I've been really fickle with boys lately. I know it seems like I haven't really been giving anyone a chance, but the truth is, noboby's excited me lately--not like this guy was anyway.

ME: So have you been getting in touch with any of your old friends?
GARY: Um...
ME: That's a 'No.'
GARY: It's just that a lot of my friends and I are...awkward around each other.
ME: Why?
GARY: It's...well...okay--I was dating this guy--
ME: Oh, here we go.
GARY: Let me finish. I was dating this guy, and we were both friends before we started dating. And we were friends with our friends before we started dating.
ME: Big Friends-fest.
GARY: Exactly. Anyway, we dated for the last two years of high school and the first year of college.
ME: And then you broke up?
GARY: No, and then he died.

Uh...what?

GARY: He was in a car accident at the end of our freshman year of college.
ME: I'm so sorry.
GARY: It's okay. I mean, it's been awhile. I've come to terms with it for the most part, but a lot of my friends haven't. He was one of those guys everybody really loved.
ME: That's understandable then.
GARY: Except for the fact that now I just remind them of someone they wish was still here.
ME: I'm sure they've missed seeing you, too.
GARY: Oh, I don't know about that. I think for them me moving to Boston and starting to date again was just--
ME: Too fast?
GARY: I think if I had waited a hundred years it still would have been too fast. We were the It Gay Couple of our high school.
ME: Every high school needs one.
GARY: People had a hard time separating us, and I don't think that changed when he died.
ME: That sucks. But I mean, you should still give it a shot.
GARY: I don't know about that.
ME: Fair enough.

I let the issue drop and we continued on with our meal. Despite the mini-bombshell, my interest was only gaining. Here was a guy who had his head on his shoulders and clearly was not overly dramatic since he had something awful happen to him and had found a way to move on and create a life for himself. It also said something about his character. I was gunning for a second date. It even seemed reasonable to introduce him to Broccoli's Angels.

ME: You know, me and my friends are going to karaoke tomorrow if you'd like to come.
GARY: Sounds like fun. I'm a total karaoke whore.

Points, points, points.

ME: It's nothing big. Just me and Broccoli's Angels.
GARY: Broccoli's Angels?
ME: Yeah, my friends Brian and Turner.

I saw a look come over his face.

ME: Something wrong?
GARY: What's Turner's last name?

I told him.

GARY: Uh...wow. Okay.
ME: What is it?
GARY: Turner and I actually went to high school together.
ME: You did?
GARY: Yeah, he and my boyfriend were like--best friends.
ME: Oh, I didn't--he's never said anything.
GARY: He took it really hard. He doesn't talk about it much.
ME: Yeah, but he and I are pretty close. We even went out on a few dates.
GARY: Don't sweat it. He and I were like that too. We didn't date, obviously, but aside from my boyfriend, he was my best friend. The three of us were all really close. After Greg died, he just...We didn't talk anymore.

Hidden secrets in my group of friends? I thought the point of being out of the closet was not to have any skeletons in it.

ME: You should definitely stop by then. I bet he'd be really glad to see you.
GARY: I don't--
ME: You're coming. What are we doing for dessert?

After about another half an hour of persuading, he agreed, but only if Turner said 'Yes.' And why would he say no?

TURNER: Absolutely not.

We were at his apartment. Brian was painting his room and we were all helping. As soon as I mentioned Gary's name, Turner nearly painted Brian the same color as the walls.

BRIAN: Turner, be careful.
TURNER: I am not going to karaoke if he's there.
ME: Why not?
TURNER: We don't get along.
ME: Turner, the guy lost his boyfriend of three years. You act like he's a Guatamalen dictator.
TURNER: Listen to you going on like you know what the fuck you're talking about.
BRIAN: Whoa, Pedro. Where'd that come from?

I was wondering the same thing. I've never seen Turner get angry like that so quickly.

ME: I'm not trying to--
TURNER: You want to know what Gary did when Greg died? He took off. Now, it's not that I can't understand that. I wanted to take off, too. That's why I transferred to NYU, but then I find out he's hooking up with anything that moves out in Boston.
ME: That's how some people cope.
TURNER: Oh please.

His face was turning as red as his hair.

BRIAN: Boys, more painting, less Peyton Place.
TURNER: If he really loved Greg as much as we all thought he did, it should have taken him way longer to get over him.
ME: Why? Because it took you longer?
TURNER: Fuck off, Kevin.
BRIAN: Turner--
TURNER: What are you going to do with him anyway? Have your fun then toss him on the scrap heap with all the other guys you date?
ME: That's out of line.
TURNER: Whatever.

With this, he walked out of the room.

BRIAN: I'll get him to go.
ME: That's okay.
BRIAN: No, he needs to. I can tell. Whatever's bothering him about this whole thing needs to be resolved.
ME: He obviously just hates me because I'm dating his dead best friend's boyfriend.
BRIAN: Hang on, let me get the violin so I can play you a weeper.
ME: I've never seen him be that mad before.
BRIAN: He'll be fine. We're friends. Friends get pissed at each other.
ME: Yeah...I mean we are Broccoli's Angels.
BRIAN: Kevin, stop trying to make Broccoli's Angels happen. It's not going to happen.

Argh.

When Gary and I got to karaoke, Turner and Brian were already there. I don't know what Brian said to make Turner agree to show, but he apparently couldn't go as far as making him be pleased to be there. He had his arms crossed and his newly created "pissed" face on.

GARY: This should be fun.
ME: How can it not be? An Indian guy is singing Cyndi Lauper.

Keep it up, Rajir. One day you'll master "She Bop."

We sat down, and I began counting the seconds until fireworks started.

GARY: So Turner, how are you?
TURNER: Pretty good. How was fucking everyone in Boston?

Who had two sentences? Anyone?

BRIAN: Can we just not? Please?
TURNER: You're the one who wanted me to come.
BRIAN: And act like an adult. Hi, I'm Brian by the way.
GARY: Nice to meet you, Brian.
TURNER: Brian is also trying to fuck half of Boston, but he commutes, so it's taking him longer.
ME: Already off to a delightful start.
BRIAN: How did I get dragged into this?
TURNER: Because you dragged me here.
BRIAN: If you don't want to be here, leave.
TURNER: Why should I? I like karaoke. Just because some insensitive--
GARY: Insensitive? My boyfriend died. Died! Sorry to be melodramatic, but he did in fact die, in a pretty dramatic way. It took me a long time to get past it, regardless of how I chose to go about it, and now you think it's okay for you to judge me? Fuck you, Turner.
TURNER: Fuck me? FUCK ME?

Anytime an argument has gone into "Fuck you"-"No, fuck you" territory, you know it's time to raise a flag.

ME: Guys, let's just--
TURNER: He was my best friend!
GARY: And you were mine. I guess we all lost more than we thought we did. I'm going to the bathroom.

And that was that. I glared at Turner, as did Brian.

TURNER: What?
BRIAN: You're being an ass.
ME: You're being unbelieveable harsh on him.
TURNER: You two have nothing to say about this. I'm going outside.

And that was that. Brian and I looked at each other.

ME: This was a disaster.
BRIAN: I know. Let's get plastered.
ME: I don't drink.
BRIAN: Fine. Watch me get plastered.
ME: I'm going to go talk to Gary.
BRIAN: I'll try to calm Turner down.

Gary was in the bathroom washing his hands.

ME: It's safe to come out now.
GARY: I shouldn't have shown up here tonight.
ME: You didn't 'show up.' I invited you.
GARY: Even still.
ME: Gary, he's being a jerk.
GARY: He's just...I didn't realize I'd be opening up old wounds. I thought enough time had passed--
ME: Sometimes that doesn't help.
GARY: Yeah.

Brian poked his head in the bathroom.

BRIAN: Kev, can I see you for a second?
ME: Sure.

He took me out to the emcee and showed me a slip he had filled out.

ME: You want us to sing at a time like this?
VOICE: No, he wants me to sing.

I turned around to see my good buddy Nick walking towards us.

NICK: I guess Turner's in need of a pick-me-up, huh?

I looked at the song title.

ME: That's what you call a pick-me-up?
BRIAN: I don't think 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' is going to do the trick. This will be more like a cathartic experience.
ME: You think it'll be that deep?
BRIAN: It will when I do the chorus.
NICK: Yeah right, tightie whitie. We're still negotiating that. Get your boys back in here.

I grabbed Gary and had him sit at the bar, while Brian convinced Turner to go back to the table. I was praying for a moving moment where karaoke would manage to bring two people together who used to be close. Odds? Not terrific. Then Nick started to sing.

When I was young I knew everything
She a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now I'm guilt stricken sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a babies breath and a shoeful of rice, No

Can't be held responsible
Cause she was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

There's something about a black guy singing The Verve Pipe that just makes you believe in God. Even if it is just karaoke.

Brian did in fact sing the chorus, but more as back-up than anything.

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and we never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen

I turned to Gary to see his response.

GARY: I remember loving this song when it came out.
ME: Granted it was junior high--
GARY: Yeah, but it feels appropriate. Like I'm in an Ally McBeal episode and your two friends are Vonda Shephard.

Do you not see why I love him?

When I looked over at Turner, I noticed him getting his coat and heading out the door. I excused myself and followed him.

Outside he was just standing there in the cold, rubbing his hands already trying to keep warm.

ME: We're not trying to upset you, Turner.
TURNER: I know.

His voice had lost its edge, and he looked the most pensive I'd ever seen him.

TURNER: It's a little like a bad break-up, if you want to trivialize it that much. You think you're past it, you're fine, and then wham. You see the person and all of a sudden you're a raging, grieving mess again.
ME: Don't you think maybe you and Gary could help each other?
TURNER: Oh, I really don't think so.

He didn't say this with bite, more like he knew something I didn't.

ME: Why not?
TURNER: Gary makes me feel guilty.
ME: Guilty?
TURNER: Kevin, when Greg died, I was going through some stuff--namely being really in love with Gary.

Oh Christ...

TURNER: And then when Greg died...I mean, how weird is that, right?
ME: This is all very Bronte sisters, you realize that?
TURNER: Yeah, I do, but it is what it is. Seeing him again makes me feel like that awful person who fell for his best friend's boyfriend.
ME: It's not your fault that you did. Nothing's your fault.
TURNER: You know, it's funny. I know and I don't know. You know how you see people who blame themselves for stuff and you think, I wouldn't do that. I would know it wasn't my fault. Well, the thing is--
ME: You know and you don't know.
TURNER: Yup.
ME: Come on inside. Everything else can worked out later, but it's cold. Just come inside, Turner.

He nodded and followed me inside. I put my arm around him and rubbed my nose up against his cheek. He felt more like my Turner, the smiling redhead who I can't believe I haven't known all my life.

The boys were just finishing up the song, but Brian didn't move from the mic.

BRIAN: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We are Ebony and Ivory and we will be playing here every week.
NICK: I don't do back-up, baby.
BRIAN: Yeah, yeah. Okay, that was totally depressing. This next one is a little more mellow.

Today is gonna be the day
When they throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you've gotta do

Gary came up to Turner. I was a little worried we were going into Round Two.

GARY: You want to dance?
TURNER: Are you serious?
GARY: Yup.
TURNER: I'm not entirely not pissed at you.

Yeah, because after Greg died he went after other guys and never even thought to stay behind and console the guy who had been in love with him the whole time.

GARY: Ditto. You can't fix everything all at once. I just don't want to fight and if that's what you want to do, I'm going to leave.
TURNER: So it's 'Yes, I'll dance with you' or 'Okay, get lost.'
GARY: Pass or play, yup.

It was then that I could see it.

TURNER: Okay.

They went out in front of the bar and began to dance, and nothing that I had felt for Gary disappeared. I still thought he was amazing, but now I realized that dating him would mean hurting Turner very much, and I wasn't sure I could rationalize that away in any fashion.

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

Nick came up to me.

NICK: So that boy you brought in here is really cute. You two a thing?

I looked at Turner and Gary dancing. I could see Turner was fighting a lot of things inside himself, and I saw that it wouldn't take too much for him to let go.

You're my wonderwall

Maybe just the right song...

FRIEND: Fuck, I'm depressed. I feel like developing a cutting addiction now.
ME: So is there any way for this to end well?
FRIEND: Yes, leave the boy alone. That's all BH9021-Homo shit. You don't need that.
ME: Can you believe how intense something like that must be? Losing someone like that?
FRIEND: Now, I can't be sure, but I'm guessing at some point we're all going to have to go through that. Of course, that's what I have my carefully guarded and maintained pyschological walls, but I'm sure even I'll get hit at one point.
ME: Christ, I need a sing-along.
FRIEND: Amen to that. Cause baby...
ME: I didn't know you sang.
FRIEND: Tell anybody I just did that and you'll never sing karaoke in this town again.

Nick was still looking at me as I was looking at my friend and the guy he loves.

NICK: Well? You two an item?
ME: I'll have to get back to you on that.

I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do
About you now

Cause baby...

Date #57: Boy on TV

Show me that smile again...
Show me that smile...
Don't waste another...
Yadda on your yadda...

Nothing makes me happier than remembering that I grew up during the Golden Age of television:

Mr. Belvedere.
Growing Pains.
Punky Brewster.

So imagine how happy I was when I met a guy who shared my love of the small screen.

Morgan is your typical pop culture junkie. He's always reading the latest in-book, he always sees a movie the day it opens, and as soon as a television show becomes popular he buys all the past seasons and watches them in crazy marathons.

While this might appeal to me in terms of "friendship," it's not the description of my ideal boyfriend.

Our date took place at his apartment. He hadn't seen the last few episodes of Battlestar Galactica and wanted to catch up. Since that's always been a show I've wanted to get into, I said "Sure, why not?" And I figured we could order pizza and laugh at ourselves for being dorky enough to sit in a living room and watch a show with the word "Battlestar" and/or "Galactica" in its title.

MORGAN: No, you don't get it. It's so uncool, it's cool. That's why people like it. Plus it has major political allegories.
ME: And aliens.
MORGAN: And commentary on today's society.
ME: And aliens.
MORGAN: And similaritities to--
ME: And aliens.

I was saying all this with a teasing smile. Actually, I was gearing up for a new television addiction until Jericho's spring season.

Ever since I was a kid I've been obsessed with pop culture. For me, it was a matter of being cool. I thought that if you knew all there was to know about the coolest trends, you would sort of absorb the cool off of the information. Not really the case. The trick about pop culture is that it's not something meant to be studied. Doing so makes you the typical nerd who cares too much. Regardless, I've never been able to give it up.

I think another part of me has just always wanted my life to be like a television show. I used to watch those old sitcoms and movies like The Big Chill where a group of friends are dancing around a kitchen making salad and listening to "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" and wish that I could have an experience like that.

MORGAN: I just finished watching every season of Smallville.
ME: I just finished Weeds and The Comeback.
MORGAN: Oh..I haven't gotten to The Comeback yet.

I could see a little spark of panic in his eyes. Clearly, he felt challenged--that maybe I was a little bit ahead of him in the cancelled television viewing race.

MORGAN: I'll have to pick it up from Blockbuster.
ME: It's quality.

We finished about two episodes of Battlestar and then moved on to the pleasant conversation portion of the evening.

ME: What was the name of Balki's cousin on Perfect Strangers?
MORGAN: Cousin Larry. What show was a spin-off of Perfect Strangers?
ME: Family Matters. Harriet worked as an elevator operator in the building that Balki and Larry worked at.
MORGAN: What was the spin-off of TGIF on Saturdays that didn't last and what were the shows on it?
ME: It was called I Love Saturday Night and it featured Perfect Strangers, Capitol Critters, Who's the Boss, and Growing Pains. My turn. Who was the voice of Max on Capitol Critters?
MORGAN: Neil Patrick Harris, who starred in this Broadway revival--
ME: Assassins.
MORGAN: Let me finish! In California--
ME: --Sweeney Todd, which featured this leading actress--
MORGAN: Patti Lupone, please bitch--
ME: Who starred in what television--
MORGAN: Life Goes On!
ME: Corky!
MORGAN: Corky!

And at that point, we just started making out...hardcore. Before I knew it shirts were off and I was sliding my tongue down his chest as he slipped in the first disc in The 4400: The First Season collection.

Despite all that, I didn't think I could handle a second date. We were just way too simliar. Instead of getting sad about it, I showed up at Brian's house with a CD and three sets of pajama bottoms. Turner opened the door.

TURNER: Kevin, please tell me we're not to run an obstacle course?
ME: Not quite.

Cut to three gay man dancing around in pajama bottoms and singing along to Freda Payne.

Now that you're gone...
All that's left is this band of gold
All that's left of this dream I hold
Is this band of gold...

TURNER: And the memory of what love could be.
BRIAN: If you were still here with me!
ME: You took me...from the shelter of the--
TURNER: Why are we doing this again?
ME: Because I want my life to be more like tv.
BRIAN: We need to have you watch more Queer as Folk and less Family Ties.

Something tells me Friend will concur.

FRIEND: You're f**king right I will. If that were my pajama party I'd lose the pajamas and keep the bottoms.
ME: Do you think I'm a nerd for being so into pop culture?
FRIEND: Honey, you're talking to someone who could call the stage version of Highschool Musical from memory.
ME: So do you think I should...get my head in the game?
FRIEND: Aw, that's cute...but sad. Don't ever say that again.
ME: Deal.
FRIEND: I think it's sweet that you have an obsession that doesn't involve you standing outside some boy's house at 3am holding up a stereo and playing "In Your Eyes."
ME: Say Anything!
FRIEND: No shouting. Daddy's still feeling his L.I.T.'s from last night.
ME: Sorry.
FRIEND: Why not put your obsession into something productive?
ME: Like a VH1 show?
FRIEND: Close.

Sometimes when your dreams don't come true on their own, you need to bring your own pajama bottoms.

Which brings me to the news...

There's going to be a new blog--all about pop culture.

www.thiscantbeculture.blogspot.com

Because every good show needs a spin-off :O)

Date #56: Saint Dating

This entry could definitely be considered the gay version of the hilarious and chic Nick Hornby book How To Be Good.

Of course, when reading a Nick Hornby novel, one is entertained. When living one, you're ready to find a lenient physician and develop an oxy-cotin addiction.

All right, enough literary allusions, onto the show.

His name is Max.

MAX: Sorry I'm late.

He was late.

ME: No problem.

I was understanding.

MAX: I got done late at work.

We were eating at Jackie's Galaxy in Bristol. He's a former RWU boy, and he stayed in the area for his job--

MAX: I work with foster kids.

Honorable, needless to say.

Cut to us having a great date. We talked, we laughed, we ate noodles. It was heaven in two and a half rooms. Then I tried to set up another date with him.

MAX: Um, this weekend is bad for me. I'm doing major CYO Retreats Saturday and Sunday.

CYO? They still have CYO's? Don't get me wrong. I made my confirmation like a good little gay Catholic boy, but that's where me and the church went our separate ways.

MAX: I just really like being a part of the community.

I can understand that. Me and a group of my friends get together every Sunday to watch Desperate Housewives--we call it Homos and Housewives.

ME: What about sometime next week then?

He looked like he was about let me down easy.

MAX: It's just that with tutoring and CCD class--
ME: You teach CCD too?
MAX: Fifth graders.
ME: Get Jesus in there early, huh?
MAX: Amen.
ME: Oh Chri--kee, this is good lo mein.

Even though I didn't want to dump the guy based on his religious beliefs, I also didn't see how he could be dating anyone with his schedule. This is what happens when you meet a guy checking out the King James Bible in the library where you work.

I tried calling him again a couple of times during the week.

MAX: I had such a breakthrough with one of my kids today.

MAX: During class today, one of my kids confided in me that she's never felt loved by anyone but God.

MAX: Today at the soup kitchen--

I knew I had to get out before lepers became involved. The boy just had goodness radiating out of him. So the phone calls stopped. I still received one or two more from him, but it just didn't seem worth pursuing.

MAX: Sorry I've been so busy, but this weekend I learned so much about who I am and where I want to be in my life. Please call me, I'd really like to talk with you.

I didn't know what to do. How do you blow off someone who's that good-hearted? Does that make me a bad person? Am I frustrated more by the fact that he's so busy or by the fact that he makes me feel bad about myself because he's such a saint?

FRIEND: Dump the freak.
ME: He's not a freak.
FRIEND: Boy teaches Jesus to juveniles. I ain't havin' no part of that.
ME: I thought you liked corrupting people?
FRIEND: That's before they start leading CYO retreats.
ME: So you don't think I should call him back?
FRIEND: Not unless he's hiding a fetish for leather.
ME: That's doubtful.
FRIEND: Honey, there's no room for kindness in homosexuality all in one person. Trust me on that one.

This convo, of course, made me want to call Max. When I did, he informed me of the following:

MAX: I'm going into the seminary.

Na-who-what-what?

MAX: I want to do something important with my life.

Oh Christ, alert the altar boys.

MAX: The truth is, if not for this, I was probably going to enter into an aversion program. I've never really been okay with being gay. I think it's an awful way of life.

ME: Yeah well, tell me how sweet life is when you can't watch porn and you're running church bingo every week.

With that, I hung up...on a future priest.

Does this mean I'm going to Hell?

Date #55: I Won't Grow Up

When last we left me, I had been seduced by someone too young to remember Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and was looking to swing the pendelum the other way. Basically, I wanted to date someone who would remember where they were when the first disco albums were being burned.

That's how I ended up with Nelson.

He's thirty-three (My favorite number doubled), drives a great car, and does not have to be home before midnight.

I realize how ironic it is that a mere twenty dates ago (see "The Golden Oldie") I was against dating Paye because of his age, but I had changed my ways--kissing a fifteen year old can do that to you.

We went out to dinner at a fantastic restaurant where he regaled me with stories of his "business." That's right, folks, he owns his own business.

NELSON: You know, normally I wouldn't date someone ten years younger than me.
ME: Twelve, but whose counting?
NELSON: Rub the salt in the wound a little more, why don't you?
ME: Hey, if I minded I wouldn't be here.
NELSON: You into older guys?
ME: I'm into finding someone who has his shit together. It seems like nobody under the age of thirty can offer that anymore.
NELSON: I hear you loud and clear.

God, I thought, no more twenty-somethings for me. Guys like this are where it's at. More than once over the course of the meal, Nelson looked at me like a conquered land he was interested in revisiting. Territory he knew well. I was willing to surrender.

(Clearly the metaphor of someone who hasn't gotten laid in awhile.)

NELSON: Seeing as how I haven't dated anyone in their twenties since I was in my twenties, what's it like nowadays?
ME: It's like picking out a puppy. They all look cute at first, and then you take one home and he keeps you up all night yapping then pees on your kitchen floor in the morning.
NELSON: Yup, that sounds like what I remember.
ME: They all just want to club hop, party, drink, smoke, and speed up their aging cycle.
NELSON: That's why I chilled out. I didn't want to physically peak at twenty-seven.
ME: It's so depressing, because it's such a Rhode Island thing. You go somewhere like New York, and you see all these really handsome guys in their thirties and forties, who clearly work out and keep themselves in good condition. Then you come back home and finding a date becomes the equivalent of picking out a burglar in a mugshot book. Everyone's got jacked up teeth, awful bodies, and bad attitudes.
NELSON: Unlike you?
ME: Me? I'm perfection guarenteed.

(As soon as I get the teeth whitened, start doing sit-ups, and lose the sarcasm.)

Nelson invited me back to his spacious living space in North Providence, and I said 'Okay.' Start the judging now, folks.

When we got there, he showed me his downstairs living room, and the first thing I noticed was the large entertainment center...

...Full of video games.

Now, this didn't automatically concern me. Lots of guys like video games. But Nelson had a virtual wall of video games.

NELSON: Impressive, huh? I just got the new PS3. I called out of work three times this week because of that thing, but it's so worth it.

Red flag number one.

NELSON: Just let me check my myspace account.
ME: You have a myspace?
NELSON: Yeah, don't you?
ME: Yeah, but--

But you're in your thirties!

NELSON: I check it all the time. I just put a new song on there and people have been commenting like crazy.

Red flag number two.

I asked if I could go get a drink upstairs--aka, I need to scope out the rest of this place to see if there are dead bodies hidden in the closet (it's standard procedure)--and he said sure, he was just going to fire up the PS3 before he showed me the "rest of the place." I could tell by his smile that meant--

That's when I take you to the bedroom and storm your cities, my little--

Yeah, whatever. This is what I found upstairs.

On the CD Rack: Pussycat Dolls, Beyonce, Justin Timberlake.
On the Movie Rack: She's the Man (great movie, I know, but not for the over-30 crowd), Bring It On, Bring It On Again, and A Cinderellla Story
On the Walls: Posters of J.T.--seven of them, I kid you not
In the Fridge: Three beers, popsicles, and onion dip

Well, that just about did it.

The red flag was raised and flown high, and I was out of there. I don't even think PS3 Peter Pan noticed since he was well into his video game at that point.

FRIEND: So you split?
ME: You bet.
FRIEND: Honey, he's just trying to hold onto his youth.
ME: But I specifically laid out what I didn't want in a guy.
FRIEND: You said you wanted someone with his shit together. He had his shit together. It just so happens his shit includes Hillary Duff and onion dip.
ME: Could he really be that clueless? I mean, he seemed like a great guy.
FRIEND: Anyone who owns Bring It On Again clearly has issues.
ME: So you're saying I did the right thing?
FRIEND: Yes, and I'm also encouraging you to go back to the barely legal boys. They have tighter abs and they know when to shut up and strip.
ME: I feel dirty just listening to that sentence.
FRIEND: I have that effect on people.

When I called Nelson and asked him why it wasn't clear to him that the reason I wanted to date someone older than me was to find more maturity in a relationship, he explained that many of the guys he knows in their thirties are into the things he's into and that I'm being unrealistic if I think guys are going to just adopt an older-skewed lifestyle when they hit thirty. He said he's as mature as it gets.

This is a very real possibility...and it scares me.

So enough seeking out a particular age. From now on I'll just avoid anyone who has more than three "Cry Me a River" posters.

Date #54: Robbing the Cradle

I'm so so very sorry.

I have done nothing but apologize to nobody in particular for the past twenty-four hours because every single part of me feels dirty--and not in a good way.

Let's start with the cliche.

ME: I swear to God he looked like he was 27.
BRIAN: Kevin, no...

I was eating a guilt-sandwich at the NC--served on a French roll.

ME: Brian, I would never--
BRIAN: That's what all the creeps say, right before they pull you into the van.
ME: I still don't understand how he got in the bar.

I went out to a bar with Turner and there he was--the hottest guy in the place. A few years older than me, probably 27, not talking to anyone and looking for a friend.

That should have been a tip-off.

BRIAN: Now what makes you say he looked 27? Why not 26 or 28?
ME: He just had a very 27 look about him.
BRIAN: What does 27 look like?
ME: It looks like I'm past the dumb mistakes of my early twenties, but I'm not in my thirties yet so nothing's started to wrinkle.
BRIAN: Don't make fun of the thirty-year-olds, you're going to be that old one day.
ME: So are you.
BRIAN: Please, I'll take my own life first.

Turner convinced me to talk to him. He made sure just enough buttons were undone and that my hair gel hadn't melted into my thick Italian head, and then he shoved me towards the guy with a pat on the ass for good luck.

BRIAN: And immediately nothing about him strikes you as being immature?
ME: Oh no. He was well-aware that he looks older, and he knows how to work it, believe me.

I said hello, and pretty soon we were deep into the topic of how pretentious the movie Babel is and how we saw way more deaf-suicidal-underaged asian girl vagina than we needed to. He mentioned how his film teacher hated it too.

BRIAN: He said teacher or professor?
ME: Teacher, which yes, should have been a hint, but I assumed professor, because I mean, how many people actually take film studies in high school?
BRIAN: I did.
ME: Fuck off.
BRIAN: So why didn't you take that opportunity to ask him if he was a film major?

It's hard to explain, but since I've graduated from college, I've become wary of letting people knw that I'm out of college, because--well--that means you're old right? At some level. You've graduated from college, and even if you're in a masters degree program--which I'm not--you've reached a threshold in your life. So, assuming that this guy was probably still in college--making him younger than I thought, maybe a little younger than me, I didn't want to bring up that I was through with school.

BRIAN: You're manic and unconvincing. Continue.
ME: Unconvincing?
BRIAN: Clearly you wanted the boy and didn't want to see what was standing right in front of you.
ME: Again, he's in a bar after midnight.
BRIAN: Whatever, Rip Get-in-My-Van Winkle. Keep the story moving.

In my defense, Turner was also fooled. I went over to him for a little mid-convo pep talk.

TURNER: Kev, he's really cute.
ME: I know! I don't want to screw this up.
TURNER: It looks like you're doing fine. He's laughing--
ME: Yeah, that's not always good. Some guys hate being amused.
TURNER: Don't be ridiculous.
ME: I'm not! People want to date the mysterioso, not the humoroso.
TURNER: Before you do a breakdown of comedia for me, why don't you go buy him a drink.

Yup, that's right. I committed an illegal act that night, kids. I bought him a drink, which he drank, and we talked some more.

Then he told me he had to get going and asked me if I could walk him to his car. I said sure, and when we got there, he proceeded to push me up against said car and make out with me for a good five minutes. I was all smiles until he said the magic words--

"Oh shit, is that a dent?"

He was looking at the rear driver's side door of the car and when he noticed a small indentation on it, he freaked.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

A guy whose into his car--kind of hot. I told him it would be fine and that it probably wouldn't be that much to fix. Someone had probably parked next to him and opened their door against the car or something. Still, it was nothing to--

HIM: You don't understand! This is my mother's car!
ME: Why are you using your mom's car?
HIM: Because I don't have my own yet. I've only been driving for a month.

Say it with me now.

BRIAN: Na-who-what-what?

I looked at him, and he could see that I was a little perturbed by this, but he was clearly more perturbed about the thought of his mother killing him.

HIM: Um...see...I'm really not even supposed to be driving by myself yet.
ME: What? Why not?
HIM: I only have a learner's permit.
ME: Oh my God, are you--? I mean, are you sixteen?
HIM: Um...you can be fifteen and ten months to get a learner's permit.
ME: You're fifteen and ten months?
HIM: No! Fifteen and eleven months. Remember when I said I'd been driving for a month? My birthday's next month.

Well let me be the first to say, Happy Birthday, and thank you for almost putting me in jail. I walked away from him, not wanting to take the chance of a policeman walking by and putting me in jail for pulling an R.Kelly.

BRIAN: So that ended that.
ME: Oh, it gets better. He called me today. I forgot I had given him my phone number.

VOICEMAIL--Hey Kev, my mom didn't even notice the dent. So no worries. Um, I'm sorry for not telling you my age right away, but I knew you wouldn't be happy if you knew. Anyway, sixteen is totally legal in Rhode Island, so if you want to hang out next month--after my birthday--just call me.

Yeah, I'll pass on that.

FRIEND: Honey, as Wanda Sykes says, if you can't find a good man--
ME: --Raise one. I know, but I don't think so.
FRIEND: I have the opposite problem with the guys I meet. They tell you they're 24, and it turns out to be all smoke, mirrors, and bad lighting.
ME: It's just so weird to me that there's actually a whole generation out there now that I'm too old to date. Remember when everyone was older than you?
FRIEND: You mean when I was born?
ME: No, but--when you were always the younger guy--no matter what. Remember how that felt?
FRIEND: It felt like every guy either shut me down because I was too young or was into me because I was too young, which is just as bad.
ME: That's what you know now, but--
FRIEND: I didn't say I didn't like it!
ME: It just felt weird having to turn someone down because I'm too old for them. Because a keyword in that sentence is 'old.'
FRIEND: Honey, you're only as old as the person you're dating. So go find a nice forty-year-old to buy you presents and take you to shows, and you'll feel a lot better.

And strangely enough, I did...

To Be Continued...

Date #53: The Line

Answer the following survey.

(Girls, you might be a little alienated here.)

Cut or Uncut?
Top, Bottom, or Vers?
Boxers, Briefs, or 2xist? (They’re their own breed.)

It seems like everyone has their prefences.

And then people have their lines.

Danny found mine while we were out at Johnny Rockets for a late-night, impromptu, high-calorie feast. We were talking about turn-ons and turn-offs.

DANNY: I’m a big fan of getting thrown up on.
ME: You’re so sick.

But I was laughing.

DANNY: It just does something to me to have someone become physically ill all over me.
ME: That might happen in the next couple of minutes if you keep this up.
DANNY: Okay, what about you?
ME: I prefer to have cottage cheese dumped on top of me.
DANNY: No, seriously, come on. Any dirty little hidden fetishes?
ME: Asks the boy who works in the porn store.
DANNY: As if you’re not curious about mine.
ME: I hate to disappoint you, Danny Boy, but I don’t have any skeletons in my closet.
DANNY: Yeah right.

It’s actually true. Although I’m fairly open-minded, there’s nothing that distinct about my sexual desires. I guess I’m just a meat and potatoes kind of guy—you know, like when you’re in a bathtub filled with meat and potatoes and someone is pouring gravy on top of you while they…never mind.

ME: So what’s yours?
DANNY: Oh, I don’t have any skeletons.
ME: Bull. Don’t cop out on me just because I’m not perverse like you.
DANNY: But you’re interested in my perversions?
ME: Well of course. I live my life vicariously through twisted, demented people.

Danny laughed and then tilted his head in that way that means—

An admission is coming.

DANNY: I like to be watched.

Anyone else’s head go right to Being There? Where my Cinebuffs at?

I just kind of stared at him realizing that he had pressed a really bad button to press. Like I said, I’m pretty open-minded, but I draw the line at one issue: Voyeurism.

DANNY: I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you would be so offended.

I realized I had subconsciously done the “ew” face without wanting to. I didn’t want Danny to know he pushed my buttons so soon after we had just started going on dates. He would think there were many other buttons, and there aren’t! Aside from screwing farm animals and showing my ass on Youtube, I’m as wild a stallion as they come.

ME: Truthfully, I’m a little put off by that, but that doesn’t mean I’m put off by you.
DANNY: It really bothers you that much?
ME: Well…yeah. But I mean, that’s just a little quirk you have. It’s not like you’d actually expect me to engage in it with you, right?
DANNY: Um…not right away.

Oh Christ…

ME: So it’s something you do regularly?
DANNY: I don’t know why, but for some reason it’s the only thing that can bring me to a complete orgasm.
ME: Whoa, Danny Boy, we’re in Johnny Rockets, not Dr. Freud’s House of Burgers.
DANNY: Ironically enough, I’ve been to a therapist about it. It’s ruined a lot of my relationships.
ME: And what did the therapist say?
DANNY: She said find someone you can be in a relationship with who likes being watched while they have sex.
ME: You’re kidding. What shrink would say that?
DANNY: She saw it as a harmless preference.
ME: Yes, but it’s also a preference a lot of people are going to have a problem with, don’t you think?
DANNY: Oh, believe me, I know. But I can either go do aversion therapy like some kind of naughty Mormon or I can just give in to it. So…I usually give in.

I give up.

DANNY: The person watching is usually someone I trust very much. I don't just do it with strangers.
ME: Couldn't you just TIVO it for him and have him watch it in the privacy of his own home?
DANNY: That kind of takes the fun out of it.
ME: Yeah, I figured that.

The fact that he works in a porn store isn’t enough of a rare abnormality. He also has to star in his own three-person sexual reality show—that I was about to be voted out of.

BRIAN: So he’s into threeways?
ME: No, that’s the worst part. He mentioned that to me hoping it would soothe my fears, but I’m actually not all that opposed to three-ways. I just don’t like having someone watch me.

We were going over my date with Danny at the NC while returning all the Christmas gifts we didn’t want. Brian was returning so much I kept wondering if he actually even bothered opening the presents anymore.

BRIAN: So you’ll have sex with more than one guy, you just don’t want someone standing there doing nothing?
ME: Exactly.
BRIAN: I don’t get it.
ME: I’m very self-conscious about certain things—one of which being how my body looks with no clothes on. If I’m with someone and we’re fooling around; he’s in the same position that I am. No pun intended.
BRIAN: Continue.
ME: But if someone’s standing there, fully clothed, just watching—it’s like I’m in the Olympics or something and he’s the judge.
BRIAN: So you’re saying you’re not always confident you can nail the landing?
ME: I’m saying that when I don’t feel like I can turn in a decent performance; I don’t want the Emmy voters sitting in the audience.
BRIAN: We have way too many metaphors going on here.

I decided to seek out familiar ground.

ME: Don’t you have a line? Something you won’t do or that you’re not into?
BRIAN: Feet.
ME: Feet?
BRIAN: I don’t do feet. Don’t put them near me. Don’t expect me to touch them. If someone suggests I suck on their toes, there’s a good chance I’m going to vomit.
ME: What if they’re into you vomiting?
BRIAN: What?
ME: Never mind.

It was time to go back to the source. I went to visit Danny at work in the hope that maybe we could come to some kind of compromise. Maybe if the guy watching was also required to be naked, or if he was made to stand behind a two-way mirror—then it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe it seems silly to be worrying so much about this, but the fact is, sexual discomfort breaks up most couples without them even realizing it. You become bored, or unsatisfied, or you’re just into something your partner is not into and BAM! You’re on Bedford Street looking for cigarettes and cheap thrills. Before anything got going with Danny, I needed to straighten this out.

Danny was working behind the counter at the store when I got there. Normally, I’m not big on visiting guys at work, but he insisted since this time of year is apparently bad for the sex toys and videos industry and so he usually has nothing to do at work besides crossword puzzles (see, we are compatible in some ways).

When he saw me, he smiled, and I thought, oh there has to be a way to work this out. He’s just so cute. His co-worker—a big beefy guy who reminded me of a white version of Mr. T was standing next to him chuckling when I approached. He had a ring through his nose and through both eyebrows, and his head was mostly shaved except for a strip down the middle. He looked to be about forty-one.

ME: Hey.
DANNY: Hey. I haven’t introduced you to Rocco yet, have I?
ME: Um, no. Hi.
ROCCO: Hey.

He made a little clicking sound with his tongue. I’m not sure what that meant, but I’m pretty sure it was Bear for “Like your earlobes.”

DANNY: I invited him to hang out with us tonight.
ME: What?
DANNY: You know, we were going to watch a movie.
ME: Yeah, well, hey—the more the merrier I guess.

I didn’t realize what I said until I said it.

ROCCO: That’s always been my philosophy.

He made the clicking sound again, winked, and headed into the back. I promptly cancelled my date with Danny.

It’s one thing to have people watch, but you should at least check them for Hepatitis first.

FRIEND: So video store boy likes to make his own videos? That’s hot.
ME: I’m really disappointed. I really liked this guy.
FRIEND: Then suck it up, set up the tripod, and start doing him.
ME: Does tripod have a double meaning there?
FRIEND: I’m sorry, what? I was looking for the volume button on my tv.
ME: You’re watching that video I got you for Christmas?
FRIEND: Honey, I love it. Did Porno Boy give you a company discount?
ME: I didn’t ask for one.
FRIEND: Are you crazy? Always get the discount! Why do you think I blow all those Gap boys?
ME: Because you’re into gays in retail?
FRIEND: I am. A boy who knows how to fold properly is a boy after my own heart.

Danny’s called a couple of times. I think he wants to apologize for inviting Iron Man to the slumber party, but truthfully, I could get over that. It’s knowing that we’d never really be on the same wavelength that bothers me.

So I answer the call, I explain, and that’s that.

Not the best way to start off a year, but I’ve got a new resolution on my hands.

Find that boy before Date #100—Giggity, giggity.

Smile.