Date #65: Massive Republican Orgy

Yes, I know, catchy title.

So, as you all know, Scooter was interested in bumping up the number of boys I've actually been on dates with so far. He invited me to his parent's house for a meet-and-greet with some of his friends from upstate mass that I may know not have come upon in my travels. The idea was that this could be one date with multiple boys--bending the rules a little yes, but since I made the rules in the first place, why the hell not?

Come upon in my travels--yeah, yeah, get your giggles out, people.

Scooter's parents were going to be gone for the week, and he told me to invite whomever I wanted for framing needs and such. Brian was busy, so I took Turner and Nick with me. In the car we contemplated whether or not this was going to turn into a circle-jerk, a snooze-fest, or an overly rowdy bar mitzvah.

TURNER: Going over a guy's house while his parents are away to meet up with boys. Don't you think this is a little junior high?
ME: You had gay sex in junior high?
NICK: So you are planning on getting laid tonight?
ME: No, but I think that's what Scooter is hoping for.
TURNER: You think he's going to pick up your sloppy seconds?
ME: Oh, if they're friends of Scooter's they're probably already sloppy.
NICK: I still can't believe he's doing this for you. Who would go out of their way to help find a guy for someone whose pants they're trying to get in?

Neither Nick nor Turner knew this was for my little social experiment. Keep that in mind.

TURNER: I didn't think Scooter would share unless the word 'menage' was involved.
NICK: I don't think he knows what 'menage' means.

We showed up at the house around 10-ish. Scooter insisted that no decent party starts more than two hours before midnight. He opened the door looking...quite nice actually.

ME: Scooter, did you get all dressed up for me?

He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

SCOOTER: I got all dressed up for the six guys here you don't end up picking.
ME: I didn't realize this was going to be Boy Meets Boy.
SCOOTER: More like blog meets seriously needed boost of creativity.
ME: Hey!

In the living room were seven guys, all very attractive. They were talking and they seemed to be familiar with each other.

NICK: Where did you find these guys, Scoot?
SCOOTER: I used to be a member of Log Cabin. They're all from there.
TURNER: Log Cabin? Like Log Cabin Republicans?
ME: These guys are all gay Republicans?
SCOOTER: They're only against welfare mothers and crackheads, Kev, not sucking dick. No worries.
NICK: And you're a Republican?
SCOOTER: Hell no, I just joined to meet the guys.

This was too good not to call Dwight.

DWIGHT: I probably know some of them. Beware though. Log Cabin boys tend to be nasty.
ME: You think they'll try raising my taxes?
DWIGHT: Kevin--
ME: I'll be careful. How's Mrs. Brown doing?
DWIGHT: Oh, she's fine. Only a sprain.

Dwight's mother, Mrs. Brown, had fallen while trying to hang a photo of Eisenhower where Dwight's school picture used to hang.

ME: Why Eisenhower?
DWIGHT: She claims we're related to him somehow.
ME: Are you?
DWIGHT: I'd have an easier time believing my mother was related to Kruschev.

I could hear yelling in the background.

ME: Is that her?
DWIGHT: She's demanding I find her a copy of The Third Man on DVD. She has a thing for Orson Welles. I think we've mended some sort of fence here.
ME: Terrific. Does that mean you can't rush over here and save me from these flaming Lincolns and their logs?
DWIGHT: Sorry, Donkey. Looks like you're hanging with the elephants tonight.

I went back into the living room and proceeded to speed mingle.

And now, the Slutty Seven in their rendition of the Fucked Up Fandago!

Cue the Kander and Ebb.

So have you been out for awhile?

GEORGE: No, I only came out about...three months ago. I feel so relieved.
ME: This must be a huge transition for you.
GEORGE: It totally is! When I liked girls I never had sex. Now I'm fucking like three people a week. And I thought I was never going to have sex. Now I just look at someone and they drop down on their knees in front of me. I mean, me. George with the back-ne.
ME: Back-ne?
GEORGE: You know, like pimples on--
ME: I know what back-ne is. I'm just a little surprised you're so forward about your sexual...um...appetites and your...skin conditions.
GEORGE: Hey, I'm just a young guy having fun. Snort a little this, screw a little that--
ME: Doesn't drug use go against any of your political beliefs?
GEORGE: See, it's different for me; I'm not dependent on any drugs. I use them for recreation. Not like some of those junkies on the street.
ME: Moral corruption is everywhere these days.

Are you close to your family?

VINNIE: What do you think? I'm Italian.
ME: That's great. Not every guy--
VINNIE: My mother meets all my boyfriends.
ME: Really? Wow, she must be very accepting.
VINNIE: I don't date anybody my mother doesn't like.
ME: That's--okay. So in other words, family is very important to you.
VINNIE: My last boyfriend and my mother got along so well, she used to tell people he was like the son she never had.
ME: But she had you.
VINNIE: In addition to me.
ME: So he was like your brother?
VINNIE: In a lot of ways, yeah.
ME: That must have been weird.
VINNIE: Why makes you say that?

What kind of guys do you typically go for?

JACK: I like a guy who knows how to take charge.
ME: So the more aggressive type?
JACK: Absolutely. I'm so sick of being fucked by these timid--
ME: Excuse me?
JACK: Let me ask you something. You top, right?
ME: Uh...I, well--
JACK: Do you do that thing where you look the guy in the eyes while you're--
ME: This might be moving a little--
JACK: All romantic and shit. Do you do that?
ME: I think it's important to connect during sex, yes.
JACK: You want to know a little secret?
ME: I don't think I do, Jack.
JACK: Guys hate that. They really do. I do anyway.
ME: Good to know. Note to self and...yeah.
JACK: I just want to be banged like it's my birthday every day.
ME: That is the American dream.

Do you go to school?

ADAM: I used to go to BU, but then I had to leave.
ME: Why?
ADAM: My first week there I got really trashed and threatened my teacher's life.
ME: Wow.
ADAM: I was under a lot of stress.
ME: College can be a lot to handle.
ADAM: Plus I just hated the bitch like you wouldn't believe.
ME: That can definitely lead to--
ADAM: I just wanted to stab her in the eyes with a magic marker.
ME: That would be hard. I mean, not impossible. I guess you could stab--
ADAM: I'm in a much better place in my life now.
ME: You back at school?
ADAM: Nah, I'm on a leave of absence from school.
ME: For how long?
ADAM: Um, until I get my anger issues under control.
ME: So...probably at least another semester?

What do you do for fun?

MARTIN: Just hang out.
ME: Cool.

(Silence.)

MARTIN: So yeah, what about you?
ME: I like theater and books and--
MARTIN: You ever try coke?
ME: I'm assuming you don't mean the soda?
MARTIN: I watched some old Culture Club videos last night after I did some. It was amazing.
ME: Where the hell did you find old Culture Club videos?
MARTIN: It might have been their VH1 Storytellers special.
ME: THAT IS SO FUCKING WEIRD! I own that!
MARTIN: You should come over some time and watch it with me.
ME: On coke?
MARTIN: Yeah.
ME: Yeah, no.
MARTIN: Okay.

(Silence.)

MARTIN: So what do you do for fun?
ME: Crossword puzzles.

If you had to stop dancing today, what would you do?

TONY: Huh?
ME: Sorry. It's just a little musical theater joke.
TONY: Oh, okay...
ME: I just saw this show in New York a couple--
TONY: Hey, do you know Brian?
ME: Brian?
TONY: I think I've seen you in his top 8 on myspace.
ME: Yeah. I'm good friends with him. And that guy over there is his roommate, Turner.
TONY: That's nuts.
ME: You're friends with him, too?
TONY: I fucking hate him.
ME: Uh...
TONY: He's such a fucking prick. What a fuckhead.
ME: Fuckhead?
TONY: He's a fucking assjack.
ME: Okay, I don't--
TONY: Fuck!
ME: Fuck, gotcha!

So how did you wind up here tonight?

JONATHAN: Scooter and I are really close. I'd pretty much do anything for him.
ME: What exactly do you think you're here to do?
JONATHAN: Well, he told us all that you were a really great guy who needed some excitement in his life and would we all mind coming here and just kind of having fun with you?
ME: Define 'having fun.'
JONATHAN: Nothing, like, prostitutional or anything. Just maybe get you to relax, meet some new people. He thinks you need to loosen up and broaden your horizons.
ME: That sounds like Scooter. Everyone's uptight but him.
JONATHAN: Yeah, but he's so hot.
ME: He's Scooter.
JONATHAN: Have you seen him with no shirt on?
ME: Unfortunately yes.
JONATHAN: Do you not like muscular guys or something?
ME: He's Scooter!

Jonathan made me aware of an alarming possibility.

ME: Are any of the other guys here...I mean...Do they all feel the way you feel about Scooter?
JONATHAN: Probably. Most of them have slept with him at least.
ME: Are you kidding me?
JONATHAN: No.
ME: Have you slept with him?
JONATHAN: No.
ME: Oh.
JONATHAN: But I want to.

I went into the kitchen to confront Scooter, but before I got there I heard some disturbing noises--the Scooter mating call--which stopped me dead in my tracks. Then I heard something that interested me enough to keep listening.

MARTIN: He seems like a nice guy, Scooter, but I thought you said he was hot.
SCOOTER: He is hot.
MARTIN: Man, come on--
SCOOTER: Kevin's hot. He's tanned, he's skinny--
MARTIN: He's scrawny, and he's only tanned 'cause he's Italian.
SCOOTER: Tanned is tanned.
MARTIN: Whatever. Nobody's feeling him. I'm sorry, Scooter. We all tried.

So did I, and now I was regretting it. I went to grab Turner and Nick. It was bad enough I'd been force to speed-date with the Slutty Seven, but now I was being made to feel self-conscious by them. I found Nick and Turner talking with Greg (Backne).

ME: Having fun guys?
TURNER: Uh...
ME: Me neither. Let's go.
GREG: We were just talking.
NICK: Greg wanted to know what kind of lube we prefer.
GREG: Like, I know you need to be careful about--
ME: Greg, ask one of the other horndogs in the room. I'm sure they know all about lube, and coke, and sleeping with their own brother!
TURNER: What?
ME: And Culture Club!
GREG: Hey, don't get mad just because nobody here wants you, dude. I just came because--
ME: --Because Scooter asked you, too. I know. And now, I'd like to leave.

I walked right out the front door in such a storm of anger that before I'd gotten to the first step, I hit a small patch of ice on the edge and proceeded to tumble down Scooter's entire front stoop and onto the lovely mud-patch at the bottom.

Turner, Nick, and Scooter came out to see if I was okay. The Slutty Seven made the intelligent move to stay inside and talk amongst themselves.

I went upstairs to shower some of the mud off of me while Scooter got me some of his clothes to wear and threw mine in the wash.

While in the shower, the sound of my looks being criticized by Martin reverberated in my ears and made me want to crawl down into the drain like the animated Punky Brewster in the episode where they minimized her, Cherry, and Margot. I know I shouldn't have cared, but whenever someone brings up my appearance, I tend to get really self-conscious and depressed. There's never really been anything wrong with me physically, and I can look back at pictures of myself from when I was younger and see that I was a fairly handsome little kid. But I was never the kid everybody thought was cute. As I got older, this turned into a really sick theory that to this day I still harbor a little.

Just like most of my weird theories, it was perpetuated by television. I would watch these tv shows about kids having parties, and going to some local hang-out with their friends, and I would think--Hey, how come that's not happening to me? Where's my local hang-out? Why isn't anyone inviting me to parties?

Instead of wondering if perhaps the television was exaggerating a little, I assumed that I was just a loser who didn't have any friends and that's why nobody ever wanted to hang out with me at the Max or invite me to the party at Zach Morris' house...Yeah, I was that lame.

CONFESSION: I used to dance around my room to "You Only Get What You Give" and try to imagine what it would be like for everyone I knew to be running around a mall wrecking havoc alongside a bald guy with a wicked falsetto.

I was so intent on reenacting Glenn Closes' shower scene from The Big Chill that I didn't even hear the door open and Turner walk into the bathroom.

TURNER: How you doing, Trip?
ME: Fine thanks, asshole. How are you?
TURNER: Can I talk to you for a second?
ME: Go ahead, talk away.
TURNER: It's kind of weird talking to a shower curtain.
ME: What do you want me to do? Poke my head out?

A pair of blue boxer briefs then appeared in the shower held by Turner.

TURNER: They're Scooter's. Put them on.
ME: I'm not putting on Scooter's underwear. You could probably grow a bacteria colony on them.
TURNER: I'm sure they're clean. You're going to be wearing them in the shower anyway.
ME: And why am I doing this?
TURNER: So I can give you a hug.
ME: Turner--
TURNER: Just put them on.

So I did, and then Turner walked into the shower wearing his own pair of boxer briefs. He gave me a hug. I wondered how strange this would look to anyone watching us. Two guys in underwear taking a shower in their boxer briefs and hugging. (This must be what the gay Mormons do when they need a release.)

TURNER: Are you really upset because of those guys downstairs?
ME: I just had the worst seven dates of my life in quick succession. That's what's upsetting me.
TURNER: Kevin--
ME: I also got judged by a bunch of slutty, crazy, drugged up Republicans.
TURNER: You were just on Fox News?
ME: I'll probably be the leading story tomorrow morning.
TURNER: Why do you care what a bunch of idiots have to say about you? Idiots, who, may I remind you, want to sleep with Scooter.
ME: I just think it's a little, what's the word I want--disturbing--that at a party designed to find me a guy, the only guy everyone wants to find is the Scootinator.
TURNER: Well isn't that just another gay paradox. You're in a room full of people who are supposed to want you, but they want Scooter, and Scooter wants you.
ME: And who am I supposed to want?
TURNER: Good question.

I resumed my shampooing.

ME: The fact of the matter is, all of them looked at me and found me undesirable. Now yes, there's no great flaw in being found unattractive by a group like that, but still--it means something. It means that on a very base level--which is what all of them operate on--Scooter is more appealing than me. They look at me and see a geek; they look at Scooter and see someone appealing. Let's face it, Turner: Scooter is the guy people write obnoxious away messages about and I'm the guy who reads them.

I rinsed my hair with no intention of repeating. I was just about to turn off the shower when Turner moved to block me.

TURNER: You want to know what those guys see when they see you?
ME: You know?
TURNER: Yes, I know, because I see it, too. They see someone who would be a great friend in addition to being more. They see someone who can make them laugh, who they can share secrets with, who'll be sensitive to their needs and kiss them on their ear when they're having a bad day and make them pancakes for no reason--
ME: --And burn them.
TURNER: Burn them to a crisp! Yes, absolutely. They see someone kind and complicated in a lot of ways and...an investment. They see an investment. And that's what they're not into, Kevin. It's not you; it's what you represent. Scooter is quick fun and no future, and that's what every gay guy is running towards right now. And some of us, are running towards guys like you.

Isn't he absolutely amazing?

ME: Turner, I would kiss you but I'm not sure how much physical contact we can have before this turns into Gay Boys Gone Wild.

It was then that we heard the door open again.

SCOOTER: What are you guys doing?
TURNER: We're taking a shower.
SCOOTER: Oh.

We heard the door close.

TURNER: Wonder what he thought of that.

I laughed. A second later the shower curtain opened and a fully-nude Scooter stepped into the shower with us.

ME: Scooter, what the hell are you doing?
SCOOTER: Why should you two get to have all the fun by yourselves? And why are you both wearing boxer briefs? My boxer briefs...
TURNER: I wanted to talk to Kevin.
SCOOTER: In the shower?
TURNER: Yes.
SCOOTER: Why can't you guys just be normal?
ME: Like those freaky friends of yours downstairs?
SCOOTER: Don't let them bother you, Kev. They're just jealous of you because I think you're hot.
TURNER: You see?
ME: Actually I'm seeing way too much at the moment.

Nick took this opportune time to enter the bathroom and inform us that there was something going on downstairs we ought to see.

NICK: You might want to put your pants on first though, Scooter.
SCOOTER: Why? Afraid you'll trip over it?
ME: Trip over what? Your ego?

We made our way downstairs but stopped at the last landing before the living room. Taking place on Scooter's couch, love seat, and living room floor was a full-on--

TURNER: Massive Republican orgy.

Oh Christ...

SCOOTER: That is fucked up! They have an orgy in my living room and don't even come upstairs to get me?

I won't describe the event in detail, party because I've blacked most of it out and partly because it was hard to figure out who was who what with all the...entanglements and what not.

NICK: I think your party's over, Scooter.
TURNER: The hell it is. I say we have a little fun.
ME: Turner, I think they're having enough fun for all of us.
TURNER: Come on, Kevin. You know I love a good hosedown.
ME: Yeah, but we're lacking supersoakers.
SCOOTER: Maybe, but I have something better.

We followed Scooter up into his old room, which had been converted into a gym/storage space by his parents. He went into the closet and pulled out a bona fide slingshot.

SCOOTER: I have three of these things. One for me, and one for each of my brothers.
ME: Great. What are we supposed to do with them, Dennis the Menace?
NICK: We can't actually injure them.

Scooter went back into the closet and pulled out a plastic bag.

SCOOTER: Whoever got injured by water balloons?
TURNER: Water balloons? Don't be childish.

The voice of reason.

TURNER: We're using mayonnaise.

So much for that.

THE PLAN: Turner crept downstairs and turned off the lights. The boys didn't seem to mind; they probably appreciated the gesture. He then crept around the naked bodies doing whatever it was they were doing throughout the room and gathered up their clothes. This was witnessed by myself, Nick, and Scooter. He took the clothes upstairs to Scooter's bedroom and proceeded to throw them out the window onto the street below. When that was done, we all took turns loading up balloons. Scooter only had about a scoopful left of mayo, so we loaded up a couple of others with ketchup, mustard, salsa, and assorted spices.

While Nick and Turner finished tying up the balloons, Scooter winked at me.

ME: What was that for?
SCOOTER: I told you I'd be spicing up your blog.
ME: You didn't say you'd be doing it with actual spices.

We moved into the living room.

TURNER: Lights on three.
NICK: One.
SCOOTER: Two.
ME: Three.

Nick hit the lights. The boys didn't even register the atmospheric change until the first mayonnaise balloon hit a trio over on the couch.

NICK: This is going to be a huge mess.
TURNER: Not if we aim right.
ME: Either way.
SCOOTER: So make it worth it.

I think that's when the Slutty Seven knew they were in trouble.

What followed were three boys--Scooter, Turner, and myself--firing semi-food filled balloons at a bunch of naked, gay Republicans. I think at one point Turner shouted (Hey boys, need a condiment?) but that could just be wishful thinking on my part. I personally shouted "Forward onto the breach!" That I'm not imagining. The Slutty Seven tried rushing at us, but Nick hit the lights again and then we all moved around the room so that they wouldn't have a definitive idea of where we were shooting from. When things got trickier, we tossed out the slingshots and just ended up throwing the balloons free-handed. It was then that Turner ran to the front door.

TURNER: Your clothes are outside boys. Thanks for coming!

Well, thanks to some of them anyway...

The Slutty Seven clearly weren't in the mood to stay in a living room filled with paprika and Heines, so they rushed out into the cold to grab their clothes instead. Turner shut the door behind the last one, and that pretty much concluded The Dinner Party: Scooter Style.

FRIEND: I'm not speaking to you whore.
ME: Why not?
FRIEND: A gay orgy--and I'm not invited?
ME: You would have gotten pummeled with mayonnaise.
FRIEND: It wouldn't be the first f**king time!
ME: So much for exposing myself to new and improved people.
FRIEND: You need to let me fix you up with some of my friends.
ME: You mean the kind who give you a lollipop if you let them put the tip in?
FRIEND: Those are just the sentimental ones.
ME: I need a little break. Seven guys in one night is too much for me.
FRIEND: Oh honey, you sound like a typical amateur.

After helping Scooter clean up, the three of us decided to head home instead of crashing on Scooter's couch. (I wasn't laying down on that thing until it was bleached and torched a couple times.) In the car, I looked for the song I wanted on my IPOD, and when I hit play, it was like an old friend was singing to me.

Wake up, kids
We got the dreamer's disease

NICK: I love this song.

And there we were. Me and my two friends. Still smelling like oregano. Jumping in on the lines--"You're all fake/We'll kick your asses!" And I thought--maybe this is as interesting as life needs to get.

You only get what you give...
You only get what you give...