Date #74: The Burning City

A friend once talked to me about living in Rhode Island.

I said that sometimes I feel like living here is a little like being in a burning city. Rhode Island is just one of those places that everyone really wants to leave.

BRIAN: I'm thinking of Madison.
ME: Wisconsin?

Brian had recently broached the topic of moving at one of our N.C. lunches, and since then he's been perusing different options.

BRIAN: It would be something different.
ME: And probably not much more exciting that Rhode Island is.

(I've actually never been to Madison, Wisconsin, so excuse me if I'm wrong about this.)

The point I've been trying to make to Brian is that so many aren't happy because of where they are, but who they are. I think if you're satisfied with yourself you should be able to live pretty much anywhere and be okay with that.

I once knew a guy who moved to New York because he couldn't stand living here anymore, and when he got to New York, he said all anyone talked about was wanting to get out of New York and move to L.A.. Finally, he moved to L.A., and all he heard there was about how great London and other parts of Europe were. When he made it over to London on a trip with some friends, he had people asking him, "You're from America? That's so cool! Have you ever lived in New York?"

Moral of the story: Discontent resides everywhere.

However, Brian was not planning on moving to New York, L.A., or any other major metropolis. He wanted to do a complete life change.

BRIAN: Boise.
ME: Idaho?
BRIAN: No?
ME: What is it you like about Boise?
BRIAN: Who do you know that lives in Boise?
ME: Nobody.
BRIAN: Exactly.
ME: So, you're going to move for the sake of moving.
BRIAN: People do it.
ME: People suffering from mid-life crises do it. You're in your early twenties.
BRIAN: I need to do something. I feel stagnant.

I think the Tommy thing hit him a little bit harder than I originally thought it would. Apparently they had gotten very close, and even though Brian knew he wasn't really the 'marrying' type (I use the term loosely since we're all gay) he had hoped for a miraculous reformation a la Samantha with Smith on S.A.T.C.

ME: Moving because of a boy just seems a little drastic to me.
BRIAN: It's not just this boy. It's every boy. Every boy in this state is royally f**ked up.
ME: Oh, and I'm sure in Boise they're much better adjusted.
BRIAN: Look, it's not like I ever planned on living here my whole life anyway.
ME: Why not?
BRIAN: Because! It's Rhode Island.
ME: So if I said I might travel and see the world and do all that but eventually wind up living my life back here, you would think...what?
BRIAN: That's great for you, but it's just not my thing.
ME: Well, not everyone can live in Madison.

That pretty much ended the discussion. Where I'm from happens to be a pretty big part of me, and when someone insults that, whether they know it or not, they're sort of insulting me.

TURNER: I'm sure he didn't mean it that way.
ME: It's ridiculous. He tells people he's leaving and they say 'Great!' I tell them why he's leaving and they say, 'Well, it's still cool that's he moving.' It's like, as long as you get out of here, you're making a good decision. Apparently, I live in Beirut and nobody told me.

We were getting ready for our big presentations in Paye's class. The snobby gays were doing something to "The Night the Lights Went Out In Georgia"--one of those modern pieces that they show during the Oscars while everyone's trying out the salsa.

Turner and I had decided on something a little more upbeat, but I was having trouble with it since my mind was occupied with Brian's potential departure.

TURNER: Are you upset about the reason he's leaving, or just the fact that he's leaving?
ME: I'm upset because my friend is leaving. Yes, Turner, you've solved the mystery.
TURNER: Don't get snippy with me, Snappy. I might be blowing off this popsicle stand one day, too.
ME: Oh really?
TURNER: Yes, really. I don't plan on raising a family in Rhode Island, you know. I want to live on a farm.
ME: Since when?
TURNER: Since I was kid.
ME: And raise what? Lesbians? Norman Bates' replicas?
TURNER: You don't see me laughing at your dreams.

Point taken.

ME: I'm sorry, Turner. I have no right to make fun. My only dream at the moment is still having friends when I'm thirty.
TURNER: Things change, Kevin. You just have to roll with it. If Brian leaves be happy for him, and don't make him feel like he can't ever come back if he needs to.

God help me if Turner ever needs help on that farm. He's so sweet to me all the time, I'd probably have to offer my help milking the lesbians.

That night, I had a date with Sean, a young entrepreneur I got asked out by when he came into the library looking to check stock quotes and I spent ten minutes helping him find the internet explorer. (He actually knew where it was; I just hovered in the hopes of getting a date--don't judge, it worked.)

We went out to dinner and we wandered--I can't imagine how--onto the talk of going places.

I filled Sean in on Brian and Turner's joint plans of someday living out of state.

SEAN: I can't understand that. Rhode Island's a great place to live.
ME: Thank you! I know!
SEAN: You've got great restaurants, nice beaches, culture, it's close to everything--
ME: I knew I wasn't crazy. That means a lot to hear you say that.
SEAN: I would definitely want to stay here for awhile.

Hearing that made me like Sean so much. Actually, hearing someone say 'I'm not going anywhere for awhile' made me happier than anything. Ever since I've graduated college, all I hear is people saying good-bye to me. I guess at some point I could just say good-bye myself, but I never feel ready for it.

After dinner, I asked Sean if he wanted to see a late night movie.

SEAN: The truth is, I would love to, but I have an early flight tomorrow.
ME: Oh? Where are you headed?
SEAN: London.

Surprise.

SEAN: My company is doing some work over there and I'm going as a rep.
ME: That sounds fun. How long are you going to be gone for?
SEAN: To be honest, I don't know. At least six months, but--
ME: Six months?
SEAN: Yeah. This is going to be a real undertaking. I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up being there for a couple years or so.
ME: Years?
SEAN: I should have mentioned this from the start--
ME: --Or when I was telling you about my thing with people leaving...
SEAN: The truth is, I kind of asked you out on a whim. I guess I wanted one last connection here before I left.
ME: So you could sever it?
SEAN: I didn't know things were going to go as well as they did.

I didn't really want to talk anymore. I just wanted to grab a block of cheese, nacho doritos, mac and cheese, pickles, and sprite and have a full on trailer trash night complete with a viewing of Killer Clowns From Mars.

DWIGHT: So they shove them in the cotton candy?

Dwight, Scooter, and Nick had agreed to indulge me.

SCOOTER: Dude, pass the doritos.
NICK: 'Dude,' your breath smells like an episode of Roseanne.
ME: The point is not to be classy. The point is to binge. Now somebody give the man his doritos and pass me a pickle.
DWIGHT: Imagine being wrapped in cotton candy. That would be gross.
SCOOTER: We should get cotton candy.
NICK: I still want to hear what happened last.
ME: It's nothing.

I hadn't told them about the final moments of the date.

SCOOTER: Spill it, Kev-o.

It was right before we went to our respective cars.

SEAN: Hey, this is going to sound really nuts--

Great, he wants sex before he goes international.

SEAN: --Extra ticket and--
ME: Wait, sorry, I was doing an inner commentary.
SEAN: Huh?
ME: Did you just invite me to London?
SEAN: I have an extra ticket--round trip. The company just always gives out two assuming people have wives, mistresses, personal assistants, rabbis--
ME: And you would give it to me?
SEAN: It's either that or it goes to waste.
ME: And what would I do there?
SEAN: I don't know. Hang out. See the town. It might be fun.
ME: I don't even know you and you want me to get on a plane with you and hang out with you in London?
SEAN: Why not?
ME: I don't have a passport or--
SEAN: I'm not leaving till eight tomorrow. While I'm packing, you could--
ME: Are you seriously doing this? I can't believe you're seriously doing this.

He smiled and kind of looked off to a side in a really adorable way.

SEAN: I can't really believe I'm doing it either, which is why I think I'm doing it. I also don't want to go to a new place not knowing anyone--if it's not too pathetic to admit that.

It was actually really really endearing.

NICK: So you're going, right?
ME: No, I'm not going.
DWIGHT, NICK, and SCOOTER: Why not?
ME: I have my job. I have obligations--
SCOOTER: You have cranial damage.
ME: Hey!
DWIGHT: What have you got to lose?
ME: I can't just jet-set off like that! I'm not a character in The Sun Also Rises!
DWIGHT, NICK, and SCOOTER: Huh?
ME: Never mind. I work at a library. It's...librarial.

I went home that night wondering if I could do it. If I really had it in me. This could be my moment. My chance to flee the burning city.

FRIEND: Get on the f**king plane.
ME: But what about?
FRIEND: Honey, there comes a moment in every princess's life when she has the opportunity to be swept away by a handsome, rich, and probably well-hung prince. This is your chance.
ME: My job?
FRIEND: Quit it. You work at a library. They have libraries in London.
ME: My family?
FRIEND: You have a family?
ME: I can't do this. It's too sudden.
FRIEND: Nothing really amazing ever happens slow. That goes for life, theater, comedy, and sex.

So...

London?

Date #73: Pets

Let's start this entry with an announcement.

I love animals.

Dogs, cats, turtles, fish--I've owned them all. I adore having pets. One day I plan on owning a big farm and having everything from chickens to llamas.

There is, however, one animal I cannot deal with in any way.

I put it to people like this:

The first Indiana Jones movie doesn't unsettle me at all, nor does the second, but the third one...I can't get past the scene in the sewer...

Jonah had kindly offered to make me dinner at his place. He had a quaint little place on the East Side, and apparently one of his hobbies is cooking. I was thrilled.

Hint Hint: Home cooking = major points with me.

I had offered to help, but he insisted that all I had to worry about was relaxing. He told me to just have a seat in the living room and he'd be in once he made sure everything was going all right in the kitchen.

So I took my drink (Sprite) into the living room and sat down on the couch. Jonah called out from the kitchen--

JONAH: Hey, if you see Will or Jack, don't worry--they're harmless.
ME: Oh? You have pets?
JONAH: Yeah.
ME: That's cool. I love pets.

At this point, I was assuming Will and Jack were dogs--terriers, perhaps. Cute, yippy terriers who would jump up on me and wag their little tails.

That's when I saw it.

And by "it" I mean--Will.

Will is a rat.

A decent-sized rat at that. Not a mouse, not a hampster, not a gerbil, guinea pig, not a squirrel or a chipmunk, not any more tolerable member of the rodent family, no no no, a rat.

I screamed and hopped up on the couch.

FYI It was a real scream--not merely an "Ah!" or an "Eek!" A blood-curdling scream that one might utter after seeing their own arm chopped off and turned into swiffer. That's the response rats illicit from me.

Don't ask me why, but rats are the one creature I can't handle. I think it has something to do with the tails, because I think hampsters are adorable. Rats are just sinister, and they started the plague--Rats killed off half the world at one point, ladies and gentlemen! Why would anyone keep them as pets???

Jonah came running into the room with his apron still on.

JONAH: What's wrong?
ME: WHAT'S THAT?
JONAH: That's Will.
ME: WHAT?
JONAH: Will! That's Will!
ME: You knew he was here?
JONAH: Yeah! He's my pet.

With perfect timing, Jack made his appearance from behind the television.

ME: THERE'S TWO OF THEM NOW!
JONAH: That's Jack!
ME: THIS IS INSANE!
JONAH: What is wrong with you?
ME: Nothing's wrong with me. You have rats as pets!
JONAH: They're very friendly.

He then did something that curdled my blood. Jonah leaned over and picked up Will. He held him in his arms like he was cradling Babe, the talking pig.

Blood spurted from my eyes, and this came out of my mouth:

ME: OWEENOOGAVIRTUCUMSENA!

Which I think might be a medieval spell to ward off friendly men who've been seduced by demons posing as rats.

JONAH: He's really sweet when you get to know him.

He took a step towards me and I'm pretty sure I kicked at him.

JONAH: Don't worry. I'll wash my hands before I go back in the kitchen.

He could have scrubbed his upper epidermis level off with lye for all I cared. I wasn't eating anything in this place.

I would love to say that I managed to be mature in this situation, but rats are the one thing that turns me absolutely hysterical. Every other phobia or odd quirk I have mostly makes me uncomfortable, but I can manage...Rats are a different story.

As politely as I could, I told Jonah that I was going to have to leave. I didn't come up with a fake excuse or even an ingenuine smile for him. I just got my coat and left.

FRIEND: How dare he give those little f**kers the names of two of my favorite sitcom characters!
ME: Don't you think he should have warned me before inviting me to walk around his apartment? If one of them had run over my feet, I'm pretty sure I'd be sawing them off right now.
FRIEND: Honey, I've never seen you so unhinged.
ME: Hey, we all have our junk.
FRIEND: And my junk is you.
ME: Regardless, I wish I could have acted a little more--
FRIEND: --Like an adult?
ME: Yes, well, but I mean--he keeps rats! As pets!
FRIEND: I have an anaconda--but I only show that to someone after they've eaten my lasagna.
ME: Lovely, just lovely.

I guess there really isn't any grand moral to be taken from all this, just the following:

If you ask me to come over and watch a movie, avoid The Last Crusade, not even Sean Connery can get me to sit through that.

Date #72: The Dinner Party: With Friends Like These...

It was bound to happen.

The dinner party to end all dinner parties has come and gone.

And I have Dwight to thank.

DWIGHT: It'll be fun. I've always wanted to do one.
ME: I've done them before. They always end badly.

Dwight and I were at the market getting food for the impending disaster.

I was in charge of the guest list since the only people Dwight had been exposed to lately were Mrs. Brown and her ultra-conservative fiancee.

ME: You promise Strom won't be there?
DWIGHT: If he is, I'm sucking someone off right in front of him.
ME: Dwight!
DWIGHT: I need to be around people my own age again. I'm going crazy.
ME: Don't worry. I'll make sure you get reintroduced to generation G-A-Y.

The guest list was going to be nice and simple:

1) Brian with Guest (Who, I had no clue, I was assuming he wouldn't even bring anyone.)
2) Turner with Gary
3) Nick with Guest (Apparently, he'd be seeing someone lately who he really liked.)
4) Myself with Guest (Travis, an old friend of mine from freshman year.)

Scooter was on the guest list, but apparently, he couldn't make it.

I was actually pretty nervous about bringing Travis to the party, but he was only going to be in RI for a limited time, and he wanted to hang out before he went back to where he's from (New York).

Travis and I are sort of complicated. Back when we used to hang out we had a very tight group of friends that was then disbanded when Travis slept with the boyfriend of another friend in the group. This was also after Travis and I discussed possibly dating. Everything unraveled after that.

BRIAN: And so are the days of our lives.

Brian and I were eating a pre-Dinner Party lunch at the N.C. Think what you will, but if straight guys can have pre-shows before their football games, we can have pre-meals before our gay dinner parties.

ME: I just don't know if I want to see him.
BRIAN: Then why did you invite him?
ME: Because he was one of my best friends at the time, and before I stopped speaking to him I was kind of crazy about him.
BRIAN: Let the fireworks begin.
ME: I will conduct myself as a composed adult with civility and poise.
BRIAN: So you're going to try to get into his pants?
ME: That's what I'm hoping.

No! That was not going to happen. I was going to be strong. I am not a sex addict. I am not Halle Berry's ex-husband!

BRIAN: So why did he sleep with your friend's boyfriend?
ME: Alcohol was involved, plus the boyfriend was an ass.
BRIAN: But it still went unforgiven?
ME: Uh...yeah! He did it on our friend's birthday.
BRIAN: Ouch.
ME: No kidding. It was just...up to that point I never believed that a group of gay guys could be friends because sex would always rear its ugly head.
BRIAN: Pun?
ME: Not intended.
BRIAN: Continue.
ME: And I felt like when Travis slept with that guy, he just...proved me right.
BRIAN: But aren't the chances pretty good that if you and he had started dating, there might have been a messy break-up which might in turn have broken up your little group anyway?

...................

ME: I don't understand the question.

That night I got to the house early to help Dwight prepare for the dinner party. Mrs. Brown was already in the kitchen when I got there--critiquing as usual.

MRS. BROWN: You're not actually going to serve the boys potato salad, are you, Dwight? I raised you better than that.
ME: Is there something wrong with potato salad?
MRS. BROWN: Nothing at all. Not if you're throwing a barbecue in Tulsa.
DWIGHT: It is not potato salad, Mother. It is potatoes au groton.
MRS. BROWN: You keep telling yourself that, Dwight, and I'll help you with the onion dip when you're done.

We managed to finish dinner just as the first guests were getting there.

Granted, the first guest had been disinvited at that point.

SCOOTER: I ended up ditching my date. He turned out to be a fatty.
ME: That is the danger with blind dates. But now we're a little short on the food.
SCOOTER: It's cool. I can just munch on something. You guys got potato chips?
ME: With dip, actually.

Shortly thereafter, Turner and Gary showed up--in matching shirts.

ME: I'd say something, but there's throw up in my mouth.
GARY: Nice to see you, too, Kevin.
TURNER: Where's your buddy, Dwight?
ME: He's in the kitchen saying good-bye to his mother.

As if on cue:

DWIGHT: Give me the goddammed sauce pan, Mother!

I turned back to the doublemint twins.

ME: Turner, remind me to remind you that you're in charge of throwing the next one of these...things.
GARY: Hey, I wouldn't mind. I love dinner parties.
ME: Great. Then you can come over early and help with the pate.

Gary looked a little perplexed. Turner looked a little worried.

GARY: Why would I come over early when I live there?

Na-who-what?

Cut to me dragging Turner into the kitchen.

TURNER: I know what you're going to say.
ME: You know I'm going to say you should be institutionalized?
MRS. BROWN: Kevin, do you think I should stay tonight and supervise you boys?
DWIGHT: Ignore her, she's not here.
TURNER: It's more for convenience than anything. I wanted a bigger place, and I needed a roommate to afford one--
ME: --So you thought: Hey, who would make a better roommate than the guy I've been seeing for less than six months?
TURNER: I've known him for longer than that.
ME: Yeah, and then you stopped talking to him because--
MRS. BROWN: I only knew Dwight's father for a few days before we consummated our relationship and moved in together.
DWIGHT: Yeah, and look how well that worked out.

I was really upset. Why wouldn't Turner tell me this? It explained why his new place was so big, and how he was able to afford it. But why keep it a secret?

TURNER: Because I knew you'd react this way.
ME: What way?
TURNER: All judgmental and stuff.
ME: Turner, what way do you want me to react? Do you want me to be one of those nodding, smiling friends who just says 'Great!' no matter what their friend does? No matter what stupid mistake they make?

Doorbell.

MRS. BROWN: I'll get it.
DWIGHT: Don't you dare!
MRS. BROWN: Fine. I'd rather watch this anyway.
TURNER: Yes.
ME: Yes, what?
TURNER: Yes, I'd like you to be a smiling, nodding, supportive friend who doesn't make me feel like a bad person every time I decide to take a chance or make a mistake!

And with that he walked out...and walked back in again.

TURNER: And if you think you're mad at me, just wait until Brian gets here!

Oh Christ...

Actually, maybe I should save that 'Oh Christ...' I might need it later.

Travis was waiting in the living room for me. Gary had let him in.

TRAVIS: Hey there, Mr. Broccoli.
ME: Hey you. You look great.
TRAVIS: Great and old, you mean?
ME: Stop it. You act like we're a decade apart in age.

In truth, we're only five years apart. But when we first starting hanging out, I was 18 and Travis was 23--which I guess can be a much bigger difference than 22 and 27.

TRAVIS: So who was the guy who just went storming into the bathroom?
ME: That was Turner.
GARY: Should I check on him?
ME: I would advise it. He hadn't told me that you two were living together.
GARY: I know, I told him he should have just said something. He thought you wouldn't take it well.
ME: I indicated he might need mental supervision.
GARY: Good to know you proved him wrong.

Gary went into the bathroom just as Nick showed up at the front door--with Chris.

ME: Oh, hi Nick. I thought you were bringing a date.
NICK: I did. You know Chris, obviously.
ME: I do indeed.

INNER MONOLOGUE: We had sex less than a month ago.

ME: How have you been, Chris?
CHRIS: Fine thanks, and you?

INNER MONOLOGUE: I've been not calling you, that's how I've been.

ME: Terrific. Come on in here.

Back into the kitchen--this time with Nick.

ME: What's this all about?
NICK: I'm sorry. I should have given you a heads up.
ME: Yeah, that would have been nice.
DWIGHT: Have you seen my mother?
ME: She's in the dining room making the napkins into phallic symbols.
DWIGHT: Oh God--

He ran out, and shortly thereafter I heard silverware crashing.

NICK: Chris and I have just decided to move our friendship to another level.
ME: Couldn't you have just joined a softball team together?
NICK: Kevin--
ME: I'm sorry, but don't you see how awkward this is?
NICK: Yes, but you're my friend, and if Chris and I are going to end up together we all need to learn to be adults and coexist at the same gay dinner party together.
ME: Why are people always asking me to accept things I don't want to accept?
NICK: You think this is bad. Wait until Brian gets here.

Wow, you can't buy suspense like that.

Back in the living room I saw something I never thought I'd see:

Scooter having a conversation with Mrs. Brown.

MRS. BROWN: Tell me, Scooter. Is that your real name?
SCOOTER: Yeah. My parents thought it would be cute.
MRS. BROWN: Do you resent them for that?
SCOOTER: Nah, twinks seem to like it.
MRS. BROWN: Twinks?
SCOOTER: Skinny gay guys who--
ME: Okay! That's enough!
MRS. BROWN: Oh right, I know what twinks are. My son brings one home every once in awhile. At least he used to. Now that he's in love with Kevin he doesn't do anything but sit around and mope.
ME: Mrs. Brown, your son--
MRS. BROWN: Don't tell me he's not in love with you, because we both know that he is.

Awkward city, next stop.

I didn't even want to think about whether or not what she was saying was accurate.

SCOOTER: Kevin's just looking for sex right now.
ME: I am not! And coming from you that's hysterical!
SCOOTER: Then why won't you give me a shot.
MRS. BROWN: Are you in love with him too?
ME: No, he's not.
SCOOTER: Yes, I am.
MRS. BROWN: I'll have to make you a special napkin, Kevin.

I had given Nick the job of entertaining Travis while I helped Dwight with the finishing touches. Turner still wouldn't speak to me, but he had agreed to come out of the bathroom and mingle.

By the time I finally got Travis alone in the room designated to be the coat room, the Caesar salads were almost ready to go.

ME: I'm so sorry things have been this crazy so far. I don't even know where my friend Brian is.
TRAVIS: He's probably just running late.
ME: Or he's afraid to show up. Don't Tell Kevin seems to be the theme of the evening.
TRAVIS: Good to know I came prepared.
ME: Don't tell me. You've become a Mormon.
TRAVIS: Kevin--
ME: You have three wives, and one of them is Jeanne Tripplehorn?
TRAVIS: I was worried about coming here tonight. Really worried.
ME: Because of the...history and whatnot?
TRAVIS: Yeah.

I smiled at him and told him what I'd wanted to say for a long time.

ME: I'm sorry.
TRAVIS: Why are you sorry? I was the one who acted like a dick.
ME: Yes, you did. But at times, I have the ability to be a little...unforgiving.
TRAVIS: You pretty much cut me off after that.
ME: I think I just get really nervous when I see someone make a mistake out of weakness because it reminds me of all the weaknesses in myself.
TRAVIS: That's deep.
ME: I know, I might have read it in a Simple Abundance book.

We went back to the dining room to start dinner, and there sitting at the table, was Brian...and his date.

TOMMY: Hey Kev, how you been?

Ready now?

Oh Christ...

See Dates #2, 17, 21--Oh, just assume that he and I don't get along too well.

BRIAN: Kevin, can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?
ME: I thought you'd never ask.

We went into the kitchen and I tried to be the new, forgiving, accepting of human ways Kevin as Brian explained the situation to me.

ME: I disown you as a friend.

Okay, so maybe it was going to take some time to implement the new me.

BRIAN: It just happened. I didn't plan it.
ME: Is this what you've been doing all this time you've been too busy to hang out with me?
BRIAN: What are you talking about? We've had lunch just like always.
ME: No! Uh uh, buddy. You've been distant, and shady, and--
BRIAN: Maybe if you handled things better--

Turner walked into the kitchen. I was assuming he was going to try and calm us down.

TURNER: Did you tell him about the drugs yet?

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!

BRIAN: Thanks, Turner.
TURNER: He was going to find out anyway. He finds out everything.
ME: You're doing drugs now?
TURNER: Why do you think I moved out?
BRIAN: You moved out because you wanted to live with Gary.
ME: Another brilliant decision from the MENSA group.

And then as if from the bowels of Hell itself...

VOICE: Kind of like writing a blog about everyone you date.

I turned around to see Tommy standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

There was no response to that. My mouth froze faster than Anna Nicole's bank accounts. I quietly left the room, walking right past Tommy, and went straight into the bathroom.

(Hey, if Turner can do it, so can I.)

I was only in there for a few minutes when the door opened. I assumed it was one of my friends coming to cheer me up and tell me there was nothing to worry about and that I should come out out to the party.

Come on, do I ever get that lucky?

CHRISTOPHER: I need to talk to you.

Oh, of course.

CHRISTOPHER: I told Nick I was going to grab something out of the car.
ME: Okay?
CHRISTOPHER: Do it to me.
ME: Do what to you?
CHRISTOPHER: You know.

See Date #68: The Ashton Kutcher.

ME: Are you kidding me?
CHRISTOPHER: I haven't had decent sex since then.
ME: You're dating my friend! We're in the bathroom! They're about to serve lamb!
CHRISTOPHER: I hate lamb. Do me. Do me now.
ME: Where? On the bathmat?
CHRISTOPHER: God, that's hot.

I was out of there. As I was leaving the bathroom, I ran right into Brian and Turner.

BRIAN: If it isn't Judgey McJudge-Pants.
ME: Oh, shut up! It's not what it looks like and even if it was, it's not the same as doing whatever it is you're doing with Tommy a.k.a Satan.
BRIAN: What I do is none of your business. Just being friends with someone does not require you to make your life an open book to them!
ME: YES IT DOES! If it doesn't, then I need to reevaluate my entire concept of friendship.
BRIAN: You might want to do that anyway!
TURNER: Guys, can we just try to have a nice dinner together?
BRIAN and ME: No!

At that point, Christopher snuck out of the bathroom and headed back towards the dining room. The three of us looked at each other...and laughed.

I don't know why, we just did. It was one of those moments.

We went back to the table.

DWIGHT: Everything all right?
MRS. BROWN: Were you boys fellating each other in my study?
SCOOTER: Usually I'm the one involved with the fellating, Mrs. Brown.
MRS. BROWN: I like this boy, Dwight. You two should consider dating.
ME, NICK, BRIAN, TURNER, and DWIGHT: No.
SCOOTER: That's okay. I'm not into Republicans.
NICK: He likes to have them start hating themselves after he sleeps with them, not before.
SCOOTER: Hardy-har.

Travis leaned in and whispered to me--

TRAVIS: You okay?
ME: Yeah, it's been one hell of a night.
TRAVIS: As bad as the last dinner party we were at?

God, I had completely forgotten.

Spring, 2003

We were all at the Cheesecake Factory: Me, Travis, Allan, and Teddy. The news of Travis and Allan's boyfriend, Rich, had just landed the night before, and things were...tense.

ME: Isn't anyone going to say anything?
ALLAN: I have nothing to say.
ME: Okay, then I'll say something.

I remember not being able to think of anything aside from--

ME: Has anyone seen Tommy? We're doing that at my school next year.
ALLAN: Travis, why did you do it?
ME: Or we could talk about that.
TRAVIS: I told you, Allan. It just happened.
ALLAN: Flash floods just happen. Sex doesn't.
TEDDY: If it was with Travis, it might have been very similar to a flash flood--
ME: Teddy, stay the hell out of it.
TEDDY: Excuse me?
ME: If you're just going to exacerbate things than just keep your mouth shut, all right? You're such a f**king instigator sometimes.
TEDDY: Are you upset because I'm attacking Travis?
ME: I--
TEDDY: Because you are aware he had no intention of actually dating you, right?
TRAVIS: Shut up, Teddy.
ALLAN: Don't tell him to shut up.
TEDDY: Just because you two smiled at each other once or twice--
ME: Look, I have no interest in dating someone who would do something like that.

And those were the damning words.

TRAVIS: You know what? I'm done with this.

He got up, and left.

TEDDY: I'm going to the men's room. Kevin, make yourself useful and ask for the check.

And that was that. Four amazing friends, disbanded all at one dinner. You wouldn't know it from the preceeding convo but we all actually were very close before that night.

It was just me and Allan sitting at the table.

ME: This is so sad.
ALLAN: You want to hear something important, Kevin?
ME: Important?
ALLAN: Yes, it's important. It's important for you to hear it.
ME: Uh...okay.
ALLAN: You're past the fresh meat phase of your life.
ME: Huh?
ALLAN: There are certain phases in any gay man's life. There's the Closeted phase, which some of us go through--that's when you're most attractive. You're new, you're pure, you're conflicted, you're not even on the market shelves yet. That's when they want you the most--
ME: Allan--
ALLAN: Then there's the fresh meat phase. That's when you're out, but you're still learning, you're still naive, you think the best of everyone, you can molded and thrown away without even knowing either happened to you. That's the phase you were in up to this point. That's the reason you might have had a chance with Travis.
ME: Okay, I think that's--
ALLAN: Now you're in the last phase. The phase where you've been made bitter, jaded, corrupted, slutty, biting, witty, but certainly not all that appealing anymore to anyone who isn't in the exact same spot you are. And for the rest of your life you're always going to be passed up for boys who are the first two phases--like my ex-boyfriend.

I remember thinking Allan was really old at that point. We weren't that far apart in age, but I felt like I was looking at someone who'd already lived three lifetimes.

ALLAN: That's why I don't blame Travis. Because we all want the pure, the untouched--we want to feel that innocence again and again. And we can't bring it back in ourselves, so we have to find it in others--soak it up--then find it in someone else. That's going to be your life, Kevin.
ME: No, it's not.
ALLAN: Yes, it is. That's going to be all our lives. Because that's the community--the illustrious, well-lauded community--that we've all built for ourselves. Obsessed with youth, and muscles, and money, and fame, and kitsch, and sin. At some point you just give up on it all. You find someone you can cling to, and you do that, you cling. You stop dating, you stop caring, and you never look back.
ME: And if you're not willing to do that?
ALLAN: Oh, Kevin, it has so little to do with you.
ME: Well, I'm going to have fun as long as I can. And if I meet the right person, then I'll settle down. But I'm not going to settle down out of fear. I'll date forever if I have to, but I'm never going to settle.
ALLAN: Kevin, sweetie, you can only date for so long before it all just seems so...pointless.

And back to the present we go...

As I sat there at the table staring at Nick across from me, I wondered to myself if Allan had been right. Had my little dating experiment (and subsequently my life) reached that moment? Had this all just become pointless?

MRS. BROWN: So Kevin, about this blog--
DWIGHT: Mother, weren't you supposed to leave hours ago?
MRS. BROWN: My fiancee must be held up at the office.
GARY: Mrs. Brown, if I can be a little blunt--I can't believe you're engaged to a person who sounds so conservative. You seem so free-spirited and--
MRS. BROWN: Gary, I've been getting screwed by conservatives all my life. I see no reason to buck the trend now.
DWIGHT: Oh dear Lord--
TOMMY: So about that blog--
SCOOTER: Hey Tommy, I think I saw you somewhere last weekend.
TOMMY: The club?
SCOOTER: No, not the club. It was after that.
TOMMY: I don't think so.
BRIAN: We went to the club and then went back home and fell asleep.
NICK: Really? I thought I heard one of you get up and leave.

What was going on here?

TOMMY: I ran out to my car to get something.
NICK: Really? Cause I thought you were gone for awhile.
BRIAN: You went somewhere?

Tommy looked like he was going to panic.

SCOOTER: Like to a part maybe? On the East Side? My friend Greg's house--
BRIAN: You went to a party?
TOMMY: I might have stopped by.
SCOOTER: For about three hours.
MRS. BROWN: Ooohh, someone's going to be in the doghouse.
DWIGHT: Mother!
CHRISTOPHER: I know Greg. I didn't think he threw parties though. I thought he just threw--
SCOOTER: Riotous orgies.

This caused Tommy to get up and leave. I looked at Scooter, who mouthed the words 'You're welcome' to me. Brian just looked shocked.

ME: Maybe we should start putting stuff away, huh?
GARY: I'll help with the dishes.
TURNER: Me, too.

I started bringing stuff into the kitchen. Everybody got up to help except Brian. He just sat where he was. I went up to him and put my hands on his shoulders.

ME: I'm sure it's not like it sounds.
BRIAN: Yeah, right.
ME: I know this won't help, but--
BRIAN: Kevin--
ME: I know sometimes I'm judgmental and unforgiving, but I'm also good at offering olive branches when I know I've been a dick. And as for the other stuff, I'm working on it...I promise. I don't want to lose you guys because of stuff like that. I don't want to lose you guys at all. I already lost some people that were really close to me because none of us could make our friendships more important that our mistakes.
BRIAN: So?
ME: So what?
BRIAN: So you know it won't help, but?
ME: Oh...But...Do you want to do a Big Chill homage?

From the kitchen, Scooter appeared.

SCOOTER: Dude, I love Jeff Bridges in that.
ME: Not Big Lebowski, Chachi. The Big Chill.
SCOOTER: Huh?

Now I know you wanna leave me
But I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg to plead for your sympathy
I don't mind, cause you mean that much to me

Ain't too proud to beg...

We were all tidying up the kitchen, throwing left-overs in tupperware, and dancing around like idiots--even Mrs. Brown.

ME: Please don't leave me girl.
TURNER: Ain't too proud to ple-ead--
ALL: Baby baby!
GARY: Please don't leave me girl.
ALL: Don't you go.

Nick and I volunteered to go take out the garbage.

NICK: All in all, not a disastrous dinner party after all.
ME: Yeah, it was okay.
NICK: Except for the part where Christopher tried to get in your pants.
ME: You knew about that?
NICK: I'm not stupid, Kevin.
ME: Nick, I'm--
NICK: I know you turned him down. He's been sulking all night, so I figured he didn't get what he wanted.
ME: He's a wacko.
NICK: Yeah, he is. Unfortunately, he's also a good friend of mine that I had hoped could be more.
ME: I know how you feel.
NICK: I guess sometimes you need to leave people where they are.
ME: So you're not going to put up a fight about it?
NICK: No, no, no. I'm just going to drop him off a mile from his house and make him walk the rest of the way.
ME: Very mature.
NICK: I think so.

This was around the time we all started saying our good-byes.

TURNER: Mrs. Brown, you have a beautiful home.
GARY: And a great son.
MRS. BROWN: Boys, this was fantastic. I'm so glad my fiancee had to pass a kidney stone.
DWIGHT: Mom.
TURNER: I bet you haven't had dinner with a roomful of gay men in awhile.
MRS. BROWN: Turner, don't be silly. I do brunch every Sunday at L'Rue.

I almost expected Turner to give me the silent treatment again, so I decided to beat him to the punch. I grabbed Gary and gave him a big hug, then I did the same to Turner, and said--

ME: I think you're both idiots, but this is one of the few times when I hope I get proven wrong.
GARY: I'll take that.
TURNER: Yeah, I will to.

Scooter was the next to leave.

SCOOTER: Text me later if you want to meet up.
ME: I'd rather give myself a colonoscopy.
SCOOTER: Why? I can do it for you.
ME: You've already saved my ass once tonight, Scooter.
SCOOTER: No need to thank me for it. I like being the only guy who knows all your secrets.
ME: Please, you don't know half of them.
SCOOTER: I know what the Ashton Kutcher is.
ME: You do not.

He leaned over and whispered it in my ear.

ME: Who told you?
SCOOTER: You aren't the only one Christopher cornered in the bathroom.
ME: Oh Christ...

Nick and Christopher left next, then Brian. Tommy had called a friend to come get him and apparently he wanted some "time to himself."

That left me and Travis.

TRAVIS: You certainly have made quite a life for yourself, Mr. Broccoli.
ME: Surrounded by craziness, and gays, and drama--
TRAVIS: Friends. You got yourself an interesting new group of friends.
ME: Well, I had to. You need them.
TRAVIS: I have to admit, I never really trusted guys again after what happened with you and Allan and Teddy. I thought it wouldn't be wise to get that close to people again.
ME: You should try. In the words of whoever used to write songs for Whitney Houston, the ride is worth the fall, my friend.

He leaned over and kissed me. It was like he was kissing the 18-year-old me again. The naive, uncorrupted, optimistic me.

TRAVIS: Don't be a stranger.
ME: Anything but.

After Travis left, I went back into the kitchen to finish up the clean-up.

FRIEND: Another f**king party I'm not invited to.
ME: Please, that was all the insanity I could handle.
FRIEND: The only reason to put that many gays in a room together is for a circle jerk or a viewing of Shortbus.
ME: You never knew me when I was 18--it's kind of a shame. I was sort of a good guy.
FRIEND: And now you're sort of a great guy.
ME: You don't think I'm--
FRIEND: Oh honey, you're a hypocritical bitch some of the time, but I love you anyway. You're the guy I would call after I had run over a hooker and kept driving.
ME: I'm pretty sure I've got that voicemail saved.
FRIEND: And that Allan--Whew! I'm glad he's not around again. I got a little on me after that monologue of his. Did he put a cigarette out in your eye after he was done saying it? Cause I felt a burning sensation. That might have been the--
ME: He was just a guy who saw the worst of the gay community.
FRIEND: Please, if he ain't been to Miami Beach the morning after a circuit party he ain't seen the worst of shit--Oookay?

Dwight was sitting at the kitchen table by himself--smiling.

ME: I'm assuming you're smiling because your Mom's gone to bed?
DWIGHT: That...and I had a very nice time tonight.
ME: Are you kidding me?
DWIGHT: Kevin, do you know many nights I've spent in this house by myself? Tonight was nothing short of a blessing.
ME: Wow, I don't hear that word used often. 'Blessing.'
DWIGHT: When you've got a house full of people, and food on the table--there's no other word for it.

He cut me a piece of the cheesecake he was eating, and we both sat there and chatted--just like The Golden Girls....

Someone cue "Thank You For Being a Friend."

Date #71: The Catch

It's not unusual to be fixed up with someone by a friend.

It is unusual to be fixed up with someone by three of your friends.

BRIAN: He's a riot. You're going to love him.
ME: I do enjoy a good riot.

Brian and I were seated at our usual table at the N.C., and he was letting me know all I needed to know about Date #71--Stephen.

BRIAN: Honestly, if he were my type, I'd be all over him.
ME: What makes him not your type?
BRIAN: I don't like guys who make me laugh.
ME: Yeah, because that's a real turn-off.
BRIAN: Hey, it's the same reason I didn't end up dating you.
ME: That and the lingering potential of joint dementia after six months.
BRIAN: Yeah, that too.

Stephen had been out of town for over two years now, but now that he was back, Brian was determined to set me up with him.

BRIAN: He's the life of every party.
ME: He's not--too--over-the-top...is he?
BRIAN: Are you asking me if he's a flaming queen?
ME: Yes.
BRIAN: No, he's not. But he does enjoy Donna Summer.
ME: That just makes him human.

I wanted to know more. Luckily, Brian wasn't the only one who knew Stephen.

TURNER: I met him when he was back in town a month or two ago.
ME: What did you think?
TURNER: I think that I'm incredibly jealous that you get to go out on a date with him.

Turner and I were watching some indie films at his new apartment. It was the first time I'd been over there since he'd set out the furniture and he'd done a nice job with the place, even though it was a little big.

ME: I just don't see why you need all this extra room.
TURNER: I like lots of space.
ME: You need high ceilings?
TURNER: Exactly, Augusten.
ME: So tell me more about Stephen.

Turner paused Sorry, Haters.

TURNER: He's just got this thing about him that makes him really charming and yet approachable.
ME: Did you...and he...?
TURNER: We hung out for a total of three hours.
ME: It doesn't take three hours.
TURNER: Some of us aren't manwhores, you know.
ME: I'm not a manwhore, but you never know.
TURNER: It was one of the best dates I'd ever been on, and I'm sure you'll feel the same.

So two out of three, right? But why not go for broke?

DWIGHT: He's absolutely intoxicating.
ME: Finally someone whose slept with him.
DWIGHT: I didn't mean in that way.

Dwight and I were getting ice cream. The recent RI heat wave made me crave Ben and Jerry's, and Dwight just needed a night out of the house.

DWIGHT: Why are you fixated on sex with this guy?
ME: I just think it's funny that this many people like him and yet nobody seemed to get close enough to him to--
DWIGHT: He's not the type of guy you get close to.
ME: Finally!
DWIGHT: What?
ME: A flaw.
DWIGHT: It's not a flaw. It's just that he's not someone you picture settling down and buying a coffee table with, that's all.
ME: And what if I wanted a coffee table?
DWIGHT: Do you want a coffee table?
ME: Well...I like coffee.

I decided at that point that I'd better just see for myself.

SCOOTER: Hey.
ME: Hey.

Leave it to Scooter to call five minutes before a date.

SCOOTER: You heading out?
ME: Yeah, so if you wanted to hang--
SCOOTER: Just wanted to see if you still had that DVD I let you borrow.
ME: Um...yeah...I still have it.
SCOOTER: I wouldn't care normally, but I wanted to watch it with this guy I'm having over tonight.
ME: Oh...Hook-up #483?
SCOOTER: Don't blame me just because people want to know about my blog.
ME: What you are writing is not a blog. It is glorified gay pornography.
SCOOTER: Why do you think people want to read it so much?

Honestly people, hasn't this blog been slutty enough for you lately?

ME: I happen to have a real date tonight--one that will not end in one or both of us being handcuffed.
SCOOTER: And you call that a date?
ME: You wouldn't happen to know him, would you? Stephen ******?

I heard a pause.

ME: Scooter, are you trying to form a sentence?
SCOOTER: You're so f**king lucky sometimes it kills me.

And he hung up.

Now I was really intrigued.

Stephen picked me up and we drove to Narragansett and parked near the beach. The weather had cooled, but not by much.

STEPHEN: What do you think?
ME: Of the beach? Love it. God did a nice job.
STEPHEN: A religious boy--always fun to corrupt.
ME: Hardly.
STEPHEN: Hardly religious or hardly corruptable?
ME: A little late for both.
STEPHEN: That's what I like to hear.

He took out a picnic basket and I instantly started to laugh.

STEPHEN: Too gay? I had a feeling it might be. That's why I made ham sandwiches. Nothing is straighter than ham sandwiches.
ME: I'm laughing because I did this once--for a boy
STEPHEN: A picnic by the beach?
ME: At night. During a windstorm. The potato salad almost flew out of his hand.
STEPHEN: How dramatic.
ME: He had broken up with me and it was my ploy to get him back.
STEPHEN: Did it work?
ME: For about an hour. We made out in my car after we'd finished eating, and I drove him back to his dorm.
STEPHEN: And then?
ME: And then a day and a half later he informed me that he was going out on a date with a guy he was utterly smitten with, and I shouldn't feel too bad because I was bound to find someone way better than him.
STEPHEN: Oh, that old gem, huh?
ME: Yup.
STEPHEN: They should just print those up like mad-libs and sell them to gay guys.
ME: Great idea.
STEPHEN: Hey [Name of Sad Sap Gay Guy], don't feel bad that [Way of Getting Fucked Over]. I'm sure [Promise of Great Things That Will Never Happen to You]. You're a great guy. Let's stay friends. Then he deletes your number and myspace messages all your friends asking them out.

He was gaining cute points by the minute, plus I love a boy whose had some hurt in his past. A person's more attractive after they've been through some personal troubles--baggage claims be damned.

ME: I find it hard to believe that someone ever hurt the great Stephen.
STEPHEN: What are you talking about?
ME: All my friends are obsessed with how great you are.
STEPHEN: You mean Brian?
ME: Brian, Turner, Dwight, and Scooter--
STEPHEN: Oh God, Scooter.
ME: You make quite an impression.
STEPHEN: And you know half the state.
ME: I'm lucky enough to have quite a few friends.
STEPHEN: Good way of putting it.

We ate our picnic and Stephen answered some of my burning questions.

ME: So do you stay distant from people?
STEPHEN: I'm just never sure how long I'm going to be anywhere, and I don't like to start up something I can't finish.
ME: Gotcha.

That was completely understandable. But since he was now back in RI full-time--

STEPHEN: Not full-time, exactly.

--Take two steps back and watch your dreams of landing Prince Life-of-the-Party diminish.

STEPHEN: I can never stay in Rhode Island for too long before I start aching for New York again.
ME: You're from New York?
STEPHEN: I'm not from there, but I did go to school there. It's that place I belong--like, my real home, you know?
ME: Yeah, I do.

Unfortunately, we have two different places. I like Rhode Island--I really do. I feel like if I didn't I would have left by now. I like the fact that it's small, and kind of cozy. I like that you can be at the beach one minute and less than an hour later you're downtown in the middle of Providence. People may complain, but I like my home state.

STEPHEN: Let's go for a walk. I'll tell you some things that will blow your mind.

So we started walking along the beach, and Stephen started talking. And the more he talked, the clearer it became how many people he actually did know. He went through guy after guy and listed little details with each one--he's got emotional problems because of his parent's divorce, he never got over his first boyfriend, he has a thing for high heels--

And I realized, although this guy is nice, I don't want to be another name he can add to his list along with a tidy tidbit about my personal life.

Kevin, he writes this blog about dating and he's semi-self absorbed and insecure at the same time. Weird in a paradox sort of way, you know?

All this was going through my mind so that when he had ended up back where we started, I didn't even hear Stephen broach a different subject with me.

STEPHEN: So would you want to?
ME: I'm sorry. Would I want to what?
STEPHEN: Come hang out at my place for a little while.

It was at this point that I decided to play coy. I wasn't really interested in continuing on my slutty streak, but I didn't want to hurt Stephen's feelings. Another part of me also decided that anything that happened with this boy was going to be broadcast on MSNBC as soon as it was over, but the flip of that was that if I turned him down and he got pissed, he could also make up something awful about me and spread it around to half the state.

So again, coy.

ME: That's okay. I have to work early tomorrow so I should probably just get home.
STEPHEN: If you want you could stay over, and I'll make you pancakes in the morning.

Bold move on his part. It's one thing to insinuate sex, but a sleep-over offer is pretty cut and dry.

ME: I don't think it's a good idea. We just met.

(Like that's ever been a problem in the past. I'm such a tool.)

STEPHEN: I understand. It's cool.
ME: I'm sorry. You're a great guy, but I just think--
STEPHEN: Hey no, it's fine. Don't worry about it.

We said our good-byes and that was that.

Until 3am...

My phone rang. It was Brian.

ME: Hello?
BRIAN: You turned him down?
ME: Excuse me?
BRIAN: You turned Stephen down?

Wow, word travels fast.

ME: I just told him--
BRIAN: I know what you told him. Are you crazy?
ME: Huh?
BRIAN: How many guys do you think he actually asks to--
ME: To what? Make pancakes for?
BRIAN: What?
ME: He offered to make me pancakes.
BRIAN: When?
ME: In the morning. When we woke up. After I slept over.
BRIAN: HE WAS GOING TO LET YOU SLEEP OVER?

I hadn't heard him get this riled up since Sabrina went home before Haley Scarnato last week.

BRIAN: I can't believe you did this.
ME: Why are you freaking out?
BRIAN: Kevin, he's a catch. You don't turn down Stephen.
ME: It's not like you ever slept with him.
BRIAN: Because I never had the opportunity.
ME: What are you talking about?
BRIAN: How many guys do you think Stephen's actually been with?
ME: I don't know. We didn't talk about that, but he does seem to know everyone so--
BRIAN: He knows everyone but he's never been with anyone.
ME: What?
BRIAN: Not that I know of.
ME: Is that why he's such a major catch? Because nobody's gotten him in bed yet?
BRIAN: Yes!

What a wonderful community I'm a part of.

ME: So because I had the opportunity and turned him down, I've created some kind of moral sin?
BRIAN: Are you kidding? Everybody in Rhode Island wants to commit a moral sin with Stephen. How could you pass this up?
ME: I'm going to bed.
BRIAN: You could have at least gotten a look at his--
ME: Goodnight.

The next day I picked up Turner for Paye's dance class. Nick opened the door.

NICK: You are one crazy white bitch.
ME: Excuse me?
NICK: First you go around Ashton Kutchering people, now you're turning down offers from Stephen. Who do you think you are? Wilmer Valderama?

Oh Christ...

ME: Why is everyone getting on my case about this?

Turner came out of his bedroom in his dance clothes.

TURNER: Getting on your case about what?
ME: Me turning down Stephen when he asked me to spend the night at his place.
TURNER: ARE YOU INSANE?
ME: WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING AT ME?
NICK: BECAUSE YOU'RE ACTING LIKE WILMER VALDERAMA!
ME: STOP CALLING ME WILMER VALDERAMA!
TURNER: WHAT?
ME: Oh forget this, let's just go.

After dance class, I got a phone call from Stephen.

STEPHEN: Hey.
ME: Well, if it isn't TMZ.com.
STEPHEN: I'm sorry. I didn't realize word would get around like this.
ME: Actually I think you were counting on it.
STEPHEN: Kevin, trust me, it's not flattering to me to be rejected by the only guy I've ever extended that kind of an invitation to.
ME: Sorry, but I'm not a geisha. You can't give me a baked good shaped like a hoo-hah and expect that I'll feel grateful.
STEPHEN: I know that.
ME: Maybe the rest of the state wants to get in your pants for some kind of bragging rights, but I honestly couldn't care less.
STEPHEN: And that's why I like you.
ME: Unfortunately, the feeling is no longer mutual, Stephen.

I hung up on him and went home. There was an IM from Scooter waiting for me.

SCOOTER'S IM: I slept with the guy who turned down Stephen. Thank you, Kevin. This gift will never stop giving.

And I will never be giving you anything again, I thought.

It's moments like this when I wonder if the whole state has gone crazy.

FRIEND: I'm going to need this boy's myspace address.
ME: Absolutely not. I'm not letting you get in on this feeding frenzy.
FRIEND: Honey, the poor boy is crying out for sexual education, and you've turned a blind eye to him. I merely want to make sure he's informed correctly.
ME: About what? How much lube is too much?
FRIEND: Don't be ridiculous. You can never have too much lube.
ME: Gotcha.
FRIEND: I'd oil myself down like a seal every time if I could--
ME: Thank you, I get the picture. Actually, I think I've gotten too much of the picture.
FRIEND: So you're not going to give this kid another chance?
ME: Why should I? He's got a big mouth. He'd be telling everyone everything that would go on between us.
FRIEND: Coming from someone who has their own blog--
ME: Okay, I see the point there, but I do keep certain things private.
FRIEND: Maybe he does too. You should talk about with him--or do you sort of like being the boy who turned him down?
ME: Meaning if I did end up seeing him again I might go from being the stud who turned down Stephen to Stephen's chosen conquest?
FRIEND: One is more illustrious than the other.
ME: I'm aware.

I decided to play it safe and leave things as they were. It's not for the fame factor. I'm sure if that's what I was looking for I could get just as much mileage out of being Stephen's first boyfriend as I could being his first rejection letter. The truth is, the idea of being chosen like that just bothered me. I don't think anyone should think that highly of themselves. I explained most of this to Stephen--in a more lighter tone of course.

STEPHEN: That's funny.
ME: How so?
STEPHEN: Just in the sense that waiting to find the right person has now become intertwined with having an ego.
ME: I know you can look at it that way--
STEPHEN: That's the only way to look at it. Sorry for not jumping in bed with a couple of losers first and then asking you out, but then again I wouldn't have gotten such good reviews then, right?

And that was that.

You know, so many times when writing this blog, I wonder if I'm intentionally trying to make myself sound better or come across as more sympathetic. But in moments like these, the best writer in the world couldn't make me sound like anything but a putz.

Here's to next time, ladies and gentlemen.

Date #70: A Form of Flattery

It wasn't until after the date that I found it.

Wes and I had a so-so date, but nothing to write home about. I was actually a little worried that I'd have absolutely nothing to say about it as he's your typical, run-of-the-mill gay guy. Nice enough, smart enough, sociable enough...

There might have been a second date, but while I was considering it I stumbled across a link in his AIM profile.

I clicked on it.

And guess what came up.

ME: Wes and the Boys: A Dating Story.
SCOOTER: He's writing a book?
ME: He's writing a blog.

I decided to take Scooter to the N.C. after Brian got called into work at the last minute. It ended up working out better anyway since I wouldn't be able to discuss my shock at seeing that I had a copycat out there.

ME: And what's worse--I'm in it.
SCOOTER: What does he say about you?
ME: He says I'm nothing special.
SCOOTER: What are you going to say about him in your blog?
ME: Pretty much the same.
SCOOTER: So that's fair, right?

Well--No! He's a giant copycat!

SCOOTER: Kevin, do you think he found your blog and decided to make his own?
ME: No, but...he should have told me--
SCOOTER: Told you what? That you were going to be in his blog? Did you tell him he was going to be in yours?
ME: Stop making good points!

The truth is, I was a little miffed and I couldn't figure out why. It's not like I'm the first person to think up an idea like this. It's just that this guy seemed to have my style and structure in addition to everything else.

He starts each entry with a convo between him and his friend about some topic, then he relates that to the date he's been on, he throws in a bit about an ex or another one of his friends, and then he closes it out with a humorous conversation with...his cat. He imagines what his cat would say about his dating life if it could talk. All the cat needs to do is develop a dependency on alcohol and wear tight, tiny underwear and it'd be Friend.

SCOOTER: Next you're going to tell me I can't write my blog anymore.
ME: I've read your blog. I don't feel threatened.
SCOOTER: Why not?
ME: Because your blog reads like a gay pornography magazine. You don't even go on dates. It's all about who you've hooked up with.
SCOOTER: I have a loyal readership.
ME: Of whom? Gay frat boys and dirty old men?
SCOOTER: It's a desirable demographic.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. This guy was copying my blog. I couldn't figure out how, but he was. I decided to call him.

ME: Hey Wes, how's it going?
WES: Great, Kev. Thanks for the other night.
ME: Oh, no problem. Hey listen, I found that link in your AIM profile--
WES: Oh my gosh, did that offend you? I'm sorry. I was just being honest. I think you're a great guy but I just didn't feel we clicked.
ME: That's exactly how I felt. No hard feelings.
WES: Great.
ME: Yeah, that's actually not what I was calling about though. I noticed that you have that little dating blog going on--
WES: Oh that. It's just this thing I do.
ME: Gotcha. Um, the thing is--and I don't know if you noticed this, but, I have a blog--
WES: Right.
ME: And...you know about it?
WES: Yeah. I found after you asked me out. I would have said something but I thought it would have been a little awkward.
ME: Uh huh. And do you feel your blog is a little...similar to mine?
WES: I guess, maybe, it might be.

Just like "Ice Ice Baby" might be "Pressure" except for that extra "ding" in "ding ding ding ding dinga ding ding."

ME: The cat?
WES: What about the cat?
ME: That's Friend.
WES: You think the cat is friend?
ME: It clearly is Friend!
WES: The cat is not Friend.
ME: Wes, come on.
WES: You know what? I'm kind of through with this conversation.
ME: Could you just stop?
WES: Stop what?
ME: You can write your own blog if you want, but just stop copying my style.
WES: Wow, I'm not even going to get into the ethical discussion this could merit, so suffice it to say, No.

With that, he hung up.

ME: What a dickhead!

After getting thoroughly pissed off, I called Scooter, who instructed me to go to his gym with him where I could practice getting my aggression out on a punching bag.

SCOOTER: You should read my latest entry. I bagged this super hot--
ME: Not the time, Scooter!

I imagined the punching bag to be Wes--

SCOOTER: That's good, Kev.

--Then it was a cat spewing one-liners.

SCOOTER: Wow, real good.

Then something hit me.

ME: There's really nothing special about it, is there?
SCOOTER: What?
ME: The blog. I thought maybe I was doing something worthwhile.
SCOOTER: You are--to you.
ME: Terrific.
SCOOTER: And to me I love reading it. I don't have any interest in some knock-off blog where the guy can't spell.
ME: Huh?
SCOOTER: His blog has tons of spelling mistakes in it. That annoys the fuck out of me.
ME: It does?
SCOOTER: Good spelling is very important to me.

You learn something new every day.

SCOOTER: Kevin, who cares who reads this blog or who doesn't? It's supposed to be about you. Making you a better person, right?
ME: Yeah. I guess I just lose sight of that every once in awhile.
SCOOTER: Then keep your eye on the ball.

So I did, but I ended up missing and hitting Scooter in the face instead.

ME: Oh my God!
SCOOTER: Holy f**k, you sucker punched me!
ME: You were standing too close.
SCOOTER: Geez, I feel bad for this kid. If this is what you do to your friends--

At the end of the day, you're another day older.
And that's all you can say for the life of the poor.

I don't know why, I just felt like inserting poignant Les Miz lyrics there.

Scooter was probably onto something. I need to do this for myself, and not worry about whether or not someone else is trying to copy me.

FRIEND: F**k that, I know people. I'll have this boy taken care of.
ME: It's not worth it.
FRIEND: A cat? A f**king cat? I don't do pussy.
ME: Not to bang my own drum, but I'm reading some back entries here and it's...not good.
FRIEND: Of course not. Rip-off's suck. They were the death of reality television and the Jennifer Anniston hairdo.
ME: From now on, I'm just writing this blog for me. Whether a date's interesting or not I'm just going to write it and not worry about whether or not other people will enjoy reading it.
FRIEND: Excuse me? You have ratings to think about. They're sending us up against The Amazing Race.
ME: Then I'm not worried.

Okay, so I won't totally abandon my structure or style.

And who knows? Maybe I'll get a talking cat of my own.

FRIEND: Do that, and I'm moving to CBS and taking that role on How I Met Your Mother.

Date #69: Indulge Me

Date #69 is kind of a big deal, because...well...I'm gay and perverted? Actually it's just fun to think of any date before 100 being a "big date" at this point. Now that February sweeps are over every show is in reruns, and I feel...bored.

So Brian and I had lunch and I tossed out the idea of doing something special on my next date--perhaps indulge all my inner date desires.

BRIAN: Which would be?
ME: Just say what I want and do what I feel. I'm going to do everything I've always wanted to do on a date but never have.
BRIAN: Like what? Not bed him until after the appetizer?
ME: Oh, you're so cute, Brian. Even with that flab under your arm developing.

He didn't look directly at his arm but I could see him trying to glance at the reflection off his fork to see if I was right.

ME: I'm kidding.
BRIAN: Don't kid. I think I have been putting on weight.
ME: Whatever you do, don't develop an eating disorder.

I don't have time for an addiction subplot this month.

BRIAN: So who are you going to try this experiment out on?
ME: This guy Mark from Connecticut.
BRIAN: Where'd you meet him?
ME: He was out and about on Mardi Gras night. I got his number and he's driving up here to hang out with me.
BRIAN: You planning on showing him a good time?
ME: If I conduct my experiment correctly, we might have a chemical incident on our hands.
BRIAN: Solvents?
ME: Acidic--
BRIAN: Okay, we need to stop there.

I left out the part about Mark being in town for a wedding anyway. I also left out the part about him not seeming all that interested in me. In fact, I only got his number because he was really drunk and happened to grab my phone and put it in there. When I texted him to say hi, he took three days to answer me, and then when he did his response was "Who are you again?"

It would have been no surprise if things stopped there, but then he texted me recently telling me he was going to be in the area, and if I wanted to grab dinner, he'd be down for that.

My original Date #69 had been dragging his feet, so I said "Yes."

Mark and I ate downtown. It was at the meal that I decided to start breaking some of my normal dating habits.

Dating Habit #1: Always Sounding Open-Minded. Making It Seem Like There's Nothing He Could Suggest That I'd Be Opposed To.

MARK: My ultimate goal in life is to sky-dive.
ME: Are you crazy? You want to voluntarily jump out of a plane?
MARK: Yeah. I think it would be fun.
ME: Not my kind of fun.
MARK: What is your kind of fun?

Dating Habit #2: Thinking Carefully Before Answering Any Question.

ME: Fun would be you in tighter pants.
MARK: Is that so?
ME: Yup.
MARK: I do own tighter pants you know.
ME: And yet you chose these.
MARK: I didn't plan on wearing them this long.
ME: They've been on this long because you wore them in the first place.
MARK: What a paradox I've gotten myself into.

Dating Habit #3: Containing My Sexuality. Trying to come across as the intellectual type who doesn't think about sex too much.

ME: That's not all you could be getting into.
MARK: Really?
ME: Actually it is. I'd have you flipped over like a pancake before I'd even unbutton my shirt.
MARK: You're more outgoing than I thought you'd be.
ME: I'm also better in bed than you think I'm going to be.
MARK: Now how do you know that?
ME: Because you wouldn't have put that much product in your hair if you really thought you were going to sweat it out later.
MARK: I think we've established how unprepared I am for what's coming later.
ME: Or how many times, for that matter.

I smiled and took a sip of my drink.

We went to a movie after dinner. Mark tried holding my hand once the coming attractions were over, but I resisted. I've always been the chaser in any situation, and now I wanted to be more ellusive.

Mark leaned in and whispered.

MARK: You're not going to let me hold your hand?
ME: You can hold something else later if you want to, but I don't do P.D.A.'s.
MARK: Why not?
ME: I also don't do talking during movies.

Wow, me indulging pretty much means me being an asshole. My subconscious must have a thing for bad boys.

After the movie, Mark invited me back to his hotel room. I decided to turn him down a couple times before agreeing.

MARK: Do you want to come back to--
ME: Sure.

But then I started to think, wait a minute...Why am I doing this? Haven't I made enough bad decisions sexually? Granted for a stretch I was celibate, but this wasn't the way to make up for it. Besides, this guy had no idea who I was, and this date definitely wasn't going anywhere pas this bedroom, hence I was breaking a few too many of the blog laws.

I decided it was time to 'fess up.

We went into his room and Mark went into the bathroom.

ME: Mark, I need to tell you something.
MARK: One sec.

Now I was feeling really guilty. How was I going to explain myself? I sat down on the bed and tried to come up with something that would make sense.

When Mark came out, I was practically ready to beg for forgiveness.

ME: Mark--
MARK: Shut up the fuck up, you dirty whore.

Apparently, he wanted me to beg for something else.

ME: What?
MARK: You like cockteasting me, huh?
ME: I'm...what?

He pushed me down on the bed and proceeded to sit on my crotch while unbuttoning my shirt.

ME: Mark, you're kinda--
MARK: I didn't say you could talk.
ME: I'm not into being dominated.

Mark grabbed my face and pinched my cheeks so that my lips were puckered up.

MARK: When Mark says the cocktease can talk, then the cocktease can talk.
ME: Meneflerginshenozzle.

I couldn't talk, and now my shirt was all the way off.

MARK: Look at those plump little nipples.

What a psycho! Nothing on me is plump!

MARK: Mark just wants to lick those little plump nipples.
ME: Couldyastawpkallingmybipplesplup?

I still couldn't talk. Mark leaned down and bit so hard on one of my nipples I thought I might have to get a piercing later out of necessity. I yelped. He yelled.

MARK: Oh yeah!

Then he proceeded to hop down off of me and lay face down on the pillow beside me.

MARK: Now!

Oh God, now he's going to make me put the lotion on my skin.

ME: Now what?
MARK: Spank my red hot ass.
ME: Mark, we need to--
MARK: It'll make me shoot so high I'll hit the ceiling.

TMI, TMI, TMI, TMI

I jumped off the bed and began putting my shirt back on.

MARK: What are you doing?
ME: I'm getting the hell out of here.
MARK: Why?
ME: Are you crazy? You bit my nipple off. My thin nipple!
MARK: What?
ME: I just need to go.
MARK: I thought this was what you were into. All that talk at dinner.
ME: I was just...indulging myself. That wasn't really how I am.
MARK: Okay, well next time give the person you're on a date with a heads up that he's sitting across from a wacko.
ME: Same to you!

I left his room and went home.

FRIEND: So there wasn't any spanking?
ME: No.
FRIEND: Do you think he could really hit the ceiling?
ME: Could we be serious here?
FRIEND: No chance in Hell.
ME: This is what I get for trying to walk on the wild side.
FRIEND: Honey, you call that the wild side? You weren't even coked out.
ME: I guess it works better to put out what you want back.
FRIEND: It always works to put out.

So I guess not every experiment can be a rousing success.

See you at Date 100...

Date #68: The Ashton Kutcher

Nick was the one who set us up.

I was on a date with his friend Chris, a guy he'd known since high school, and things weren't exactly going well.

CHRIS: I'm basically just bored with everyone.

Chris was a secondary education major about to finish college. He had an intellectual flair about him. One of those no-nonsense, I do my own taxes, wash the car every Tuesday types. He had a little bit to drink, and I think it was loosening him up to the point where he felt he didn't need to put on the usual dating facade.

CHRIS: It's just becoming so tedious to do this.
ME: This being?
CHRIS: Dating.
ME: Oh.
CHRIS: I'm sure you wouldn't understand.
ME: Maybe not 67 dates ago, but now--
CHRIS: I'm sorry, what?
ME: I've just been dating a lot in the past eight months.
CHRIS: Recent break-up?
ME: More like a reawakening.

Chris had another drink, and that's when the talk turned purient.

CHRIS: Can I ask you something?
ME: Why not?
CHRIS: Are you ever bored with sex?
ME: Um...

The truth was, the last sex I had was great, but it was with Scooter. I might have been avoiding sex's phone calls, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to text it sometime in the near future when my self-control finally surrendered.

I decided to go another route with my answer.

ME: ...I've been bored with sex, yes.
CHRIS: And then you weren't anymore?
ME: Then things got better.
CHRIS: How?
ME: Just like anything else. I kept at it.

Yeah, call me a whore, but it's true. Everyone has sexual highs and lows, but if you let it scare you off the field, the game will...the coach...yeah, gay men should not attempt sports metaphors.

CHRIS: The past three guys I've had sex with were just so boring.
ME: I'm sorry to hear that.
CHRIS: One of them was my boyfriend of three years.
ME: Ouch.
CHRIS: More like 'Eh.' It was so bland. Routine.
ME: That's natural after a long relationship.
CHRIS: It got 'eh' after the first week.
ME: And you stayed for three years?
CHRIS: Yeah, because people kept telling me it was natural...

Was that a dig at me?

ME: Hey, I'm just trying to perk you up a little till the check comes.
CHRIS: Yeah, clearly this is going nowhere.
ME: I wasn't going to be that harsh, but--
CHRIS: I mean, you're cute. If I thought I'd have a good time I would be trying to get you into bed right now. I could use a night of meaningless sex. But unfortunately, as I said, sex seems to do nothing for me these days.

It was the way he said it. So methodical. Like--"Sorry, Mr. Broccoli. The tumor seems to be malignant, and now I have a golf game to get to."

ME: This might sound a little egotistical of me, but maybe you just haven't had sex with the right person yet.
CHRIS: Oh, so you think you're going to break my streak?
ME: If that's a euphamism--
CHRIS: I suppose if you think you can wow me, it's worth a shot. Should I get the check?

I know what I should have done. I should have just told him he was an asshole and walked right out of the restaurant after throwing money on the table for the bill...but I didn't.

Have you ever seen someone so cocky that you just wanted to...have sex with them...? Plus, he was just so put-together, I wanted to see if he was even capable of letting loose a little. Part of me worried it would be like having sex with Mr. Roboto.

BRIAN: And was it?

Brian was the first to hear about my little escapade. I was hoping Chris 'Eh' wouldn't mention our little tryst to Nick.

ME: It wasn't actually all that bad.
BRIAN: Would you go back for seconds?
ME: Absolutely not. This was strictly to...
BRIAN: To what? Meet the challenge?
ME: I'm sorry, but when someone sits there and tells you he doesn't think you'd be any good in bed, what other choice do you have?
BRIAN: Inform him that he'll never know and then never speak to him again.
ME: I'm sorry. But I happen to be a little more competitive than you.
BRIAN: Wow, you've been getting sluttier and sluttier with each passing week.

And that was without him knowing about me and Scooter.

ME: It's probably just spring fever.
BRIAN: It's not spring yet.
ME: Fine. It's pre-spring fever. I'm peri-twidderpated.
BRIAN: Oh, that's just sad.
ME: The ending of the story is--I proved my point.
BRIAN: Did you? How do you know he enjoyed himself?
ME: Because a guy like that doesn't pull punches. Had I been awful, he would have taken great joy in letting me know that he was right about me.
BRIAN: And he didn't?
ME: No, he actually asked me out again.
BRIAN: And you said?
ME: Fuck off.
BRIAN: Bravo, Slutty.

After lunch, Brian and I went over to his apartment to help Nick and Turner move. Turner was moving out into his own place on the west side, and Nick was taking his room.

BRIAN: My third roommate in under a year. I feel like I'm in the Real World: San Francisco.
ME: And who would Puck be?
BRIAN, NICK, and TURNER: Scooter.

Oh, Christ... I've had sex with the Puck guy.

NICK: So I just have one question for you, Mr. Broccoli.
ME: Shoot.
NICK: What the hell is the Ashton Kutcher?

I froze. Everyone stopped packing Turner's things into boxes and looked at me.

TURNER: The Ashton Kutcher?
NICK: I'm not one to discuss bedroom activity in public, but since we're all friends here--my buddy Chris told me that you did some sort of freaky-deaky move on him--
ME: Oh, come on, Nick.
NICK: --That he just looooooooved.
BRIAN: There you go, he was satisfied.
NICK: He was more than satisfied. He was fascinated. He's dying for more.
ME: Well, he's not getting any more.
BRIAN: What did you do to this guy?
ME: I'm not going to talk about this.
BRIAN: Nick, what did he do to this guy?
NICK: Chris was actually too shy to say it.
TURNER: Wow.
NICK: He did say that Kevin refers to it as the 'Ashton Kutcher.'
ME: I didn't mean to tell him what it was called. I wasn't thinking. It was one of those after-sex talkbacks where the audience gets to ask questions.
TURNER: It involves an audience?
BRIAN: Why is it called the Ashton Kutcher?
TURNER: Does Chris look like Ashton Kutcher?
NICK: He's black.
TURNER: Oh.
NICK: As a matter of fact, he and I were wondering if it's a white thing--to do whatever it is you did.
ME: Can we stick to the moving please?

And that was that. They all laughed and went back to packing. Truthfully, I didn't want to discuss it for several reasons.

1) To talk about a "move" is kind of cliche. Seinfeld did an episode about it, and so did L.A. Law ("The Venus Flytrap). The only difference is that those moves were just made up by writers, whereas the Ashton Kutcher is an actual move, but still--it's been done before and I feel like a hack just writing about it.

2) It's not exactly something that I'm comfortable describing to people. I'm not the squeamish type, obviously, but there are still things I'd like to keep sacred (this from the guy who publishes everything in a blog, I know, I know).

3) I know I'm not the only person whose ever done it, or knows how to do it, or anything like that, but as long as I keep what it is to myself, I feel like I know some hidden trick that nobody else does.

Of course, now that everyone knew there was a move, they weren't going to let up until they knew what it was.

ME: Hello?
TURNER: Hey.

I was at home watching television, and just enjoying some downtime.

ME: Hey Turner, what's up? How's the new place?
TURNER: It's okay. Hey question, does it involve the 70's?
ME: What?
TURNER: The Ashton Kutcher. Does it involve the 70's?
ME: How would something involve the 70's?
TURNER: I don't know. I just figured because Ashton Kutcher was on That 70's Show--
ME: Actually, it involves having sex and then screaming out 'You've been punk'd!' and showing them the camera crew.
TURNER: Kevin--
ME: Good-bye, Turner.

I got to watch ten more minutes of Dog the Bounty Hunter before the phone rang again.

BRIAN: Hey.
ME: Hey.
BRIAN: Nick and I want to know if it's that thing where you pull the guy's hair and--
ME: Have you two just been sitting around using your new roommate bonding time to discuss what my little sex trick might be?
BRIAN: We've been pooling our theories.
ME: Look, I obviously can't keep it from you, so just call up Chris and ask him.
BRIAN: He won't talk.
ME: Good for him. Maybe I should give him a second chance after all.
BRIAN: Normally I wouldn't care so much, but Nick said this guy is impossible to please sexually and somehow you did it.
ME: Did it ever cross either of your minds that maybe I'm just--I don't know--good in bed?
BRIAN: Yeah, I can't really see that.
ME: Good-bye.

I got another hour of quiet before the next call. This one wasn't as surprising.

SCOOTER: Hey.
ME: Hey.
SCOOTER: So...how have you been?
ME: Scooter, it's only been a couple days.
SCOOTER: Yeah, but the last time we talked...We didn't really talk, it was mostly moaning...
ME: I'm not really comfortable having this conversation.
SCOOTER: You're not going to cut me off, are you?
ME: Of course not. And if I do it'll just be because you're you, not because we had sex.
SCOOTER: Okay, fair enough.
ME: Okay.
SCOOTER: So do you want to come over?
ME: Scooter--

I assumed this was just the typical...Well, when referring to Scooter, the term "booty call" doesn't seem appropo--it's more like an ass yodel.

Wow, saying "ass yodel" really paints an ugly picture, doesn't it?

SCOOTER: C'mon, we'll have a good time.
ME: I'm going to have to pass.
SCOOTER: But...I want to know.
ME: Want to know what?
SCOOTER: ...What the Ashton Kutcher is.
ME: Who told you?
SCOOTER: Brian called me to see if I could get it out of you.
ME: What an asshole!
SCOOTER: I was more offended that you didn't do it with me.
ME: How do you know I didn't?
SCOOTER: Hey, don't get me wrong, it was great. But it wasn't anything...original.
ME: You've done so much with so many people, I doubt there's any chance of surprising you, Scooter.
SCOOTER: True enough. So did you do it with me?
ME: No!
SCOOTER: Well why not? Aren't I good enough for the Ashton Kutcher?
ME: If you knew what it was, you would know why we didn't do it.
SCOOTER: Does it involve peeing on the guy?
ME: Good-bye Scooter!
SCOOTER: Hey, one more thing--why'd you have sex with someone right after you had sex with me?

That came as a bit of a surprise. Was he actually hurt?

ME: I'm sorry. I didn't realize--
SCOOTER: Next time call, and we can all hang out together.

And there we go, ladies and gentlemen. Scooter is still Scooter.

ME: Goodnight, Scooter.
SCOOTER: Goodnight.

The next day I had nine text messages from Brian, Turner, Nick, Scooter, and a few other people who happened to be contacted by them--pleading with me to tell them what the Ashton Kutcher was. As someone who hates being left in the dark about things, I could understand the wanting to know, but I still wasn't going to give it up.

The only time I picked up my phone all day was when Dwight called.

DWIGHT: Hey.
ME: Hey.
DWIGHT: Don't worry. I'm not calling about the Ashton Kutcher.
ME: Who told you about it?
DWIGHT: I read Scooter's livejournal.
ME: Scooter has a livejournal?
DWIGHT: Yeah, it's pretty twisted. It's a little like reading the gay postings on Craig's list.
ME: Why is he posting about me?
DWIGHT: He put out a call to all gays that might know you to see what the AK is.
ME: Now it's being shortened?
DWIGHT: Do you call it that because after you have sex with the person you can't find your car?
ME: Dwight--
DWIGHT: How about this--show it to me.
ME: What?
DWIGHT: I want to know what it is. I figure if I can make it worth your while--
ME: Have you lost your mind?
DWIGHT: I'm sorry. I've been in this house with my mother for so long--I haven't been out on a date, or...had any kind of relief.
ME: Major TMI going on here.
DWIGHT: And now I read about all your crazy sexual antics--
ME: Um--
DWIGHT: --And it's just too much!
ME: Scooter doesn't mention any kind of...favorite blog or something...does he?
DWIGHT: No, why?
ME: I told him about this guy's blog that I liked, and I wanted to see if he mentioned it.

Hey, who knew what else Scoot was spilling?

I figured after awhile, the hubbub would settle down regarding the AK--Oh great, now even I was shortening it. I just couldn't understand why gay guys put so much stock into sexual prowess? It wouldn't matter if Chris told Nick that I was really charming, or funny, or sweet. Everyone would just shrug that off as someone else's perception. They wouldn't come clamoring to find out if I was charming, funny, or sweet. They wouldn't want to know what jokes I told, or what Chris and I talked about, or why he thought what he thought. But mention that something is interesting about someone sexually and suddenly you've piqued their interest.

And the move isn't even all that interesting. All I do is--

FRIEND: Please, bitch, I invented that move.
ME: Yeah right. Along with apple-tinis and sarcasm.
FRIEND: And don't you forget it.
ME: Why is this such a big deal to everyone?
FRIEND: Because charming you come across twice a day, but a man who knows how to work your headboard is hard to find.
ME: I don't think that's true.
FRIEND: Oh, go throw some pennies in a fountain and pray for true love then, Pollyanna. Daddy's being realistic here.
ME: I guess everyone's just going to stay fascinated forever then, because I'm not telling anyone what it is.
FRIEND: I'll give you a blowjob if you tell me.
ME: No.
FRIEND: Two blowjobs?
ME: You think I'm objecting due to the quantity?
FRIEND: It can't be quality. I've won awards.
ME: Good-bye Friend.
FRIEND: Bye Honey.

If it's going to cause this much of a ruckus, maybe I should just retire the Ashton Kutcher altogether...

...Nah.

PS. Since you're devoted blog readers, I'll give you a bit of info: I call it the Ashton Kutcher, because the first time I tried it, I was watching My Boss' Daughter. Now you can see why I'd be ashamed to admit why I named it what I did. Who wants to admit they were watching a bad Terrence Stamp/Ashton Kutcher comedy while having sex...or at all? Maybe I should just call it the Terrence Stamp...